






.^' 



<» " " ^ <D 

"^ ^^ ^•'^' .f^ ... V 









MARBLE ISLE 



LEGENDS OP THE ROUND TABLE 



OTHER POEMS. 



By 8ALLIE BRIDGES 



:< c-F c©A 



's^l 



% l.sr-; 



PIIILADELPniA 

J, W LTPPINCOTT k CO. 
1864 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



2. ^ ^ -^ <^ 



CONTENTS. 



/AGE 

Past, Present, and Future 9 

Woman's Sin 15 

Noon 18 

Alpine if lowers 21 

The Stranger's Grave 23 

The Mirage 26 

The Legend of Errol 35 

Laurel Hill 39 

The Old Guard at Waterloo 41 

Napoleon's Legacy 45 

-The AVorld and the Dreamer 47 

The Unwritten Elegj' 49 

Born 52 

Dead 53 

The Saint-Esprit i....... 55 

An Old Story 58 

Prayer at the Pole 60 

One Life 62 

Calls and Responses 61 

The Question 66 

Died Young 68 

Agnes 70 

Graves by the Way 77 

Origin of Gems :— 

The Opal 83 

Diamonds 85 

Rubies 86 

Emeralds 87 

My Pearl 88 

A Sound from the Bastille 91 

Worship 93 

7 



5 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

El Dorado 94 

The Difference 100 

The Talk 101 

The Tomb in Aventicum 109 

The Question of the Day in 1860 115 

The Hesperides 117 

After the Triumph 119 

The Poet's Wife 122 

The Sovereign of the Pampas 125 

Chattcrton 131 

Time and the Sea 134 

After the Battle 136 

A Letter Found in a Tent 140 

The Curse of the Grape 143 

An Experience 144 

A Peruvian's Address to the Sun, after the Conquest 147 

Stanzas suggested by Miss Cushman's Farewell to the Stage 149 

The Reaper's Return Home .• 150 

Mercy's Dream 152 

A Summer's Memory of Berkshire, Mass 153 

Italia 154 

Legends of the Round Table : — 

Excalibur 159 

The Death of Lanceor 162 

The Tomb of the Twelve Kings....... 165 

The First Meeting of Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 167 

Merlin's Grave 169 

Sir Launcelot's Slumber 171 

Beaumain's Vow 175 

The King and the Bard 177 

The Love-Drink.. 179 

The Best Knight 184 

The Quest of the Sancgreal 190 , 

The Last Meeting of Launcelot and Guinevere 212 

Launcelot's Vigil 217 

Avilion 223 

Martilelsle 241 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



POEMS. 



PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 

Wildly dreaming sat I watching, watching the 

bright sunset fade. 
Saw its fairest colors mingling, till they met in eve's 

dark shade, 
And the twilight sadly veiling, veiling in the orb of 

light, 
Shutting from me all its glories, slowly leading in 

the night; 
Then the stars came, tiny twinklers, shining in their 

distant home, 
While the moon look'd cold and brilliant, hanging 

in the azure dome. 

Sounded near me then a rustling, rustling as of tru- 
ant bird. 

As there came a strain of music, softest that I e'er 
have heard ; 

9 



10 PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 



Then I turn'd, and there, beside me, was a strange 

and gentle thing, 
Seeming like a fairy spirit floating upon angel's 

wing ; 
And its face was very beauteous, beauteous, but with 

marks of woe, — 
With some sorrow o'er it stealing, shadow of the 



First its soft dark eye was gazing, gazing deep into 
my heart. 

Stirring there the memories olden, of my former 
life a part, 

Calling up the buried treasures, treasures of the by- 
gone years, 

Till the dried-up fount was open'd by the gushing 
of salt tears ; 

Then it beckon'd me to follow, follow in its airy 
flight, 

And I grasp'd its gleaming garment, robe of crimson 
edged with white ! 

Onward, upward, then it bore me, bore me to the 

scenes of yore, 
Show'd me forms of dearly loved ones gone from 

hence for evermore, 
Brought before me brightest hours of my youth and 

careless life, 
Turned me from old dreams of pleasure to the 

wrestlings strong of strife. 



PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 11 

Pictured forth my early musings, musings of my 

future lot, 
Stirr'd again past lonely yearnings, vanish'd thoughts 

long, long forgot. 

Onward still it led me slowly, slowly through the 
perish'd years, 

Mark'd my childhood's merry moments, girlhood's 
•hopes and trembling fears, 

Painted for my longing spirit scenes I grieved to 
know had gone, 

Ever leading memory onward to the point whence 
we had flown ; 

Then it softly, gently faded, faded from my anxious 
sight, 

Left me sighing, lonely pining for another vision- 
flight. 

Then upon my sad ears sounding, sounding came a 
tuning gay. 

Measure ringing, blithest, lightest ever chased dark 
gloom away ; 

And before me was a spirit, spirit of the Present 
bright, 

With a countenance all joyous, shining as from in- 
ward light ; 

And its wings wore golden plumage, richer than the 
sunset dye. 

With a smile of pleasure beaming, dancing in its 
sparkling eye. 



12 PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 

So it quickly, tightly clasp'd me, clasp'd me with its 

rose-hued hand, 
Soaring over flowery pathways, through a restless, 

merry band ; 
Show'd me friends I dearly cherish'd, cherish'd with 

a heart-felt love. 
Made me mid their many groupings with a silent 

swiftness move, 
Laid before me all the hopings, hopings earnest that 

I knew, 
Whisj)er'd that my fancy's visions, fair illusions, all 

were true ; 

Then upon the rapid streamlet, streamlet of this 

busy life. 
Bore me on mid crested wavelet 'twixt its shores 

with beauty rife, 
Where upon the borders verdant Lotos-blossoms I 

could see ; 
Told me that the moments passing ever joyous thus 

would be. 
Chasing off the faintest shadow, shadow floating o'er 

my brow ; 
Murmuring still, with voice alluring, life would aye 

be bright as now. 

All the time its face was beaming, beaming with a ! 

happy ray, 
And upon the lips so gladsome changeless smiles ' 

did ever play ; 



PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 13 

Then the hours flew by so swiftly, swiftly ere we 

knew they were, 
That we had no pause for sorrow, not a moment's 

thought of care ; 
But suddenly its glory clouded, as it led me swiftly 

home, 
Then, with tones of wildest wailing, fled before the 

great To Come ! 

Soon around me flow'd the music, music of a gush- 
ing strain ; 

Fitful were its varied numbers, gleesome now, then 
sad again ; 

While towards riie, grandly moving on its wings of 
sombre shade. 

Came a figure that in nearing still a darker twilight 
made ; 

And upon my spirit fearful stole a feeling kin to 
awe, 

As this image large and wondrous, strangely looming 
thus I saw. 

At its gesture, gathering evening faded with its shades 

away. 
Leaving there the heavens shining clear as at the 

noon of day ; 
Soon upon the surface azure pass'd there oft a fleecy 

cloud, 
Then the gloomy storm rush'd o'er it with the 

thunder dread and loud ; 



14 PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 

But these pass'd, and left it peaceful, peaceful and 

with calmness rife, 
While the angel seem'd to utter, " Emblem of thy 

future life V 

Then it call'd before me faces, faces that were new 
and strange, 

Others that were dear, familiar, but upon them all 
a change ; 

And amid the many groupings, groupings that be- 
fore me fled. 

Sought I many fondly loved ones; but the spirit 
whisper'd, " Dead V 

Closed I then my aching vision, that no longer I 
might see. 

For it brought an anguish piercing, learning thus 
the yet To Be. 

When my heavy eyelids raising, wishing more of 

fate to know, 
Saw I but the figure moving, like a shadow waning 

slow ; 
And the night came like a mantle, wrapping in its 

mighty form. 
While the wind and clouds were struggling like the 

coming of a storm ; 
But it pass'd, and left me sitting, sitting in the 

moon's cold beam. 
Thinking of the mystic spirits, pond'ring o'er my 

waking dream. 



woman's sin. 15 

Brought the Past its memories olden, olden scenes 
of mirth and pain, 

But had told me mid its teachings that 'twill ne'er 
return again ; 

Brightly shone the happy Present, si3irit ever light 
and gay, 

Still amid its fairest visions quickly fled its form 
away ; 

Darkness shrouded round the Future, half its mys- 
teries unreveal'd : 

Kow and Have Been both are open'd, only the To 
Be is sealed ! 
1852. 



WOMAN'S SIN. 



*' It is women who condemn the fallen of their own sex 
without pity; knowing little of their sufferings, comprehend- 
ing not their struggles and wretchedness ; only, like the Pha- 
risee of old, they stand afar ofif, and thank God, in a loud voice, 
that they are not like to them !" 

'Tis women have no charity, — 

Oh, bitter, mournful truth ! 
'Tis they pursue the fallen ones 

With never-ceasing ruth ! 

Why dost thou pass with scornful mien, 

woman of the world, 
Yon smiling, wretched, outcast one 

From Virtue's pathway hurl'd ? 



16 woman's sin. 

Is it because her form is deck'd 

In gaudy, soil'd array, 
While on thine own the costly robes 

Such faultless taste display ? 
Does dress, then, so much difference make 

Thy haughty mind within ? 
Which dost thou hail with most contempt, 

The garment or the sin ? 

Or dost thou fear thy spotless name 

Might suffer, shouldst thou dare 
With kindly gaze thy looks to send, 

Instead of chilling stare ? 
Dost dread lest man might coldly sneer, 

If thou shouldst gently speak 
One loving word to that poor heart. 

The tempted and the weak ? 
Some might reproach thee for such act 

Whose sympathy is dead ; 
But He will mark the noble deed, 

Whose Son for sinners bled ! 

Remember how with earnest care 

A mother watch'd thy youth, 
To cherish free from earthly taint 

Thy innocence and truth ! 
Perchance upon that once pure brow 

That bears the brand of shame, 
No mother's lips have ever press'd 

A token of the name. 



woman's sin. 17 

No mother's heart has ever yearn'd 

Above her child with prayer 
That naught of evil's cankering weight 

The little one should bear ! 

Thou ne'er hast known Temptation's art, 

Nor all the woe that springs 
From loneliness and bitter want, 

And poverty's sharp stings ; 
Life has not taught thee how to feel 

The miseries of the young, 
When love and gold, with luring tones. 

Their siren songs have sung. 
While hunger stands beside the hearth, 

A herald of the grave, 
And not one warning voice to plead, 

No kindred hand to save I 

Dost think that thou couldst thus have gone 

Through earth without a stain ? 
Gouldst thou have borne its sneers and taunts, 

Its crosses and its pain ? 
Look well within, when thou wouldst scorn 

An erring sister's path ; 
Thou mayst have sins as dark as hers 

To meet the future wrath : 
And think that all thy loving words, 

And every soften 'd look, 
Effaces some remember 'd guilt 

From Heaven's record-book I 
2 



1 3 NOON. 

The angels weep when human souls 

From Virtue's pathway stray, 
And joy in Paradise proclaims 

"When sinning spirits pray ! 
Then what art thou, that thou shouldst dare, 

worm of little worth, 
To crush a heart that yet might soar 

Above its chains of earth ? 
Ere long the tomb will hide from man 

That thou hast ever been, 
And death may make ye equals then, 

Thou and the Magdalene ! 



NOON. 

At Summer noon the burning sunbeams pour 
In one unbroken flood of golden light, 

By quenchless warmth the beauty to restore 
Of those fair blossoms hid hj Winter's night. 

The green-robed trees, deck'd in their fresh attire, 
Stand still and listless, wearied of the play 

And murmur'd tales with which the breezes biro 
A leafy resting-place from heat of day. 

The clock tolls forth its loud, sonorous peals, 
The sentinel that hails the morn's first rays 

From towering steeple, trembling as it feels. 
In all its dej^th, the warning it conveys. 



NOON. 19 

For this old clock is but the city's heart, 

And each hour's knell the slowly beating throbs 

That send its solemn pulse through every part, 
To mark how much of life time gives or robs. 

The weary workman greets the welcome hour, 
And stops his toil to wipe his dusty face: 

Glad of a respite from the sun's strong power, 
He leaves his labor for some shady place. 

Where, drawing from his basket's little store 
The humble meal by careful hands prepared, 

The sunburn'd brow grows brighter than before, 
Rememb'ring *' home," with loving spirits shared. 

The cock, whose trumpet call had waked the day. 
Has still'd the tones that swell'd his haughty 
throat. 

And struts not now through regions of his sway, 
AVhile clucking hens applaud with flattering note 

The bird is pining in his air-hung cage ; 

His tiny voice no longer trills the song 
That tells of distant woods to travell'd age. 

For whose cool shades his drooping feathers long. 

The buzzing flies have ceased their circling flight, 
Hushing their sleepy hum, and on the pane, 

Like black-mail'd soldiers after lingering fight, 
Sink, one by one, as on the battle's plain. 



20 NOON. 

The eloquence of silence fills the ah*, 

Though life scarce seems alive in such still scene, 
Save where yon humming-bird flits here and there, 

A living, sparkling jewel set in green; 

And where the bounding heart of yon fair girl 
Flutters with each new dream 'gainst snowy vest, 

Or where the balmy breath just stirs a curl, 

Passing through parted lips from heaving breast. 

The rounded limbs in careless grace repose. 
The rosy mouth no impress bears of strife, 

Where youth the glory of its sunlight throws, 
And Noon of Day keeps watch o'er Noon of Life, 

The book has fallen from the nerveless hand ; 

A dawning smile breaks o'er the blushing brow. 
As, half awake, her hopes, a maiden band. 

The Future paint, unmindful of the Now. 

And, nursing thus the children of the brain. 
The glowing visions that young spirits bear, 

She roams an Eden free from sin and pain. 

And, trusting, thinks no serpent-trails are there. 

May Heaven keep the glory of her way 

As pure and brilliant as her inward dreams ! 

May shades of night ne'er follow Joy's bright day, 
And Life prove all the Paradise it seems ! 



ALPINE FLOWERS. 21 

And evermore within the woman's mind, 
May Summer's golden beauty ripen love, 

Till Death, the farmer of the skies, shall bind 
Its sheaf of fruits within the fields above ! 

1855. 



ALPINE FLOWERS. 

Upox the mountain's frozen height 

The Alpine Flowers bloom. 
Like gems of purest light enclosed 

In some dark cavern's gloom ; 
And yet around their icy home 

They yield their fragrance sweet, 
Although their modest loveliness 

No human eye may greet. 

Amid the soft and fleecy clouds 

That float like angels' wings 
Athwart the rosy-tinted brows 

Of Nature's snow-crown'd kings, 
They grow, these fragile things of life. 

Mid parks and slopes of sleet, 
Like signs from heaven dropp'd to mark 

The trace of spirit feet. 

E'en as these lowly blossoms shed 

Calm beauty o'er the rock. 
That echoes but the wild winds' voice 

And avalanche's shock, 



22 ALPINE FLOWERS. 

As tliey survive ^neath mighty storms, 

And mid eternal frost, 
Where prouder plants soon fade and die, 

Where lofty trees are lost ; 

So ever in the mortal mind 

Some gentle memory lives, 
That mid the height of worldly lore 

An unknown perfume gives, 
That nestles 'neath grief's bitter storms 

And disappointment's power, 
A fadeless garden for the soul 

In sorrow's chilling hour. 

When high ambition's aims have fail'd, 

And earthly hof)ings die, 
Like mountain-flowers sending up 

Their incense to the sky. 
Spring lofty thoughts within the heart, 

Its lonely way to cheer, 
Till holy deeds, like seraph-tracks. 

Shall deck the prospect drear. 

Remember, then, in wandering o'er 

The world's hard, changing path. 
We stand full oft on danger's steeps 

And near the whirlwind's wrath. 
Ah ! cherish all the mossy spots 

That memory's dew keeps green ; 
For know, when souls bear tender dreams, 

That angels there have been. 



THE stranger's GRAVE. 23 



THE STRANGER'S GRAVE. 

The fairies met in the church-yard old, 

When the moon was shining bright: 
They sat on the blossom-spangled sod, 

In the shade of a tombstone white. 
Their queen was throned on a snowy rose 

That bloom'd o'er a quiet grave, 
While her court was group'd in humble flowers 

That amid the long grass wave. 

They were tired of dancing on verdant lawn 

With carpet of velvet moss, 
And weary of flinging the moon-ray motes 

With tlie chance of gain or loss ; 
They had drain 'd their acorn-bowls of dew 

In their secret banquet-hall, — 
A hollow stump on the green hill-side. 

Their table a toadstool tall. 

And now they had come from revel and play 

In the dead men's home to rest, 
And each silent, star-watch'd mound had rung 

With songs of a glad fay-guest ; 
But soon they had hush'd each elfin lay : — 

Their queen, Titania, spoke — 
Her voice, like the warbling of far-off lark, 

The reverent silence broke. 



24 THE stranger's grave. 

Her robe was made of butterfly wings, 

Of a glow-worm's gem her crown, 
A humming-bird's plume her sceptre slight, 

Her train of a moth's breast-down ; 
She stood on the tintless, satin edge 

Of a pure unfolding leaf, 
That emblem'd the stainless heart of youth 

Ere life's page is marr'd by grief. 

She told of a tomb in that calm place, 

A sunken and barren mound, 
Where only lay on the cold, dead face 

The chill sods of dark, damp ground ; 
No flowerets shed their fragrant sighs 

O'er that love-deserted spot, 
A stranger's lonely and nameless grave, 

Long by mortal souls forgot. 

She bade them roam through the solemn aisles 

And gather the ripen'd seeds. 
To bring the sweets of forest and field. 

The treasures of water'd meads. 
And plant them over the dreamless head 

That was lowly sleeping there : 
Neglected by man, the stranger's grave 

Henceforth should be fairies' care ! 

So, night after night, the tiny band 
Bore from the green wood and vale 

Their precious things, from the creeping vine 
To the snow-drop pure and pale ; 



THE stranger's GRAVE. 25 

They "wreathed an arch of the woodbine wild, 
And hung it with wind-tuned bells, 

And wove festoons of sweet buds that bloom'd 
In hidden, untrodden dells. 

And they stole the spotless lily-cups 

From the brook-shores where they grew, 
Fit goblets to hold earth's sky-pledged wine, 

The sparkling and cloud-born dew ; 
The jessamine stars shed their silvery light, 

And clematis clusters hung 
Like censers of perfume rarely wrought 

And by unseen spirits swung. 

Thus toird each fay with unceasing skill, 

The midnight's mystical guest, 
Twining a bower of magical grace 

O'er that dust-bound, pulseless breast : 
Men wonder'd to see that desert mound 

In such sudden splendor bloom. 
And lovers made it a storied spot: 

Forgot was its olden gloom ! 

And still, through the long, calm summer nights, 

When the moon, like blushing bride. 
Spreads her veil of light, and fondly walks 

By her groom the earth's proud side, 
The fairies rest on its flowery thrones, 

AVhere eve's trembling shadows wave: — 
The brightest spot in that church-yard old 

Is the stranger's nameless grave ! 



26 THE MIRAGE. 



THE MIRAGE. 

Once, years ago, in Araby's far land, 
A weary caravan had wander'd long, 
And one by one, in desperate extreme, 
Its way-worn stragglers had lain down and died ; 
While stronger frames still journey'd weakly on, 
Though every smiburn'd brow but told despair ; 
For Thirst and Famine stalk'd on each slow step, 
And Hope had almost ceased to lead the way. 
Upon our blood-streak'd eyes the light stream'd 

down, 
In one unquenchable, unshadow'd flood, 
Till e'en its golden beauty seem'd a curse ; 
And some, whose brains unpitying rays had pierced. 
Knelt on the burning sands, and pray'd aloud 
For Darkness that should never know a morn. 
For Death, for aught to free them from the beams 
That drown'd their senses in such molten waves, — 
And, kneeling, perish'd in a Siinoon blast. 

Behind, for miles of that scorch'd desert waste. 
Were strewn the whitening bones of man and beast, 
The landmarks showing Death's unsparing march. 
Before was spread the same bright glittering scene 
Of sparkling sand and blue unclouded sky. 
North, south, east, west, that shining, arid field 
Lay calm and still, and with the azure arch 



THE MIRAGE. " 27 

Serenely smiled in mockery of our pain ; 
Till fearful oaths and imprecations loud 
Burst from the quivering lips that raving swore 
No Heaven could be beyond such lurid skies, 
Since God nor Heaven shed no mercy down. 

But suddenly all blasphemy was hush'd : 

And some that erst liad mutter'd cursing words 

Now afler'd praises with repentant tone ; 

And men that had not wept since childhood's hour, 

Cold, harden'd men, like very infants sobb'd. 

As if their hearts would break with weight of joy • 

And failing voices raised a feeble shout, 

And tottering, faltering steps grew firm and swift. 

As onward rush'd our worn and ghastly throng 

With arms outstretched to grasp a precious prize ; 

For, lo ! before our eager gaze were spread . 

The clear and placid waters of a lake, 

With mossy banks enamell'd here and there 

With groups of lovely flowers, whose Eastern hues 

Seem'd like the remnant of some rainbow bright. 

That dropp'd from its high home, and in the fall 

Was broken, and its rich dyes scatter'd there ; 

The stately palm-trees bow'd their lofty heads. 

The token-promise of abundant fruit ; 

And the calm waves where fell their lengthen 'd 

shade 
Cast up a dimpled smile of grateful love, 
And wooed our panting haste with witching charms. 
And like a herd of startled deer we flew. 



28 ■ THE MIRAGE. 

On — on — with nimble footsteps wing'd by fear ; 
For Death, the hunter, caught each lingering form, 
And love of life still nerved each drooping limb. 
Still on we strove, nor heeded heat or toil ! 
On — on — the torrid earth beneath our feet 
Sent up its hottest torture through our veins, 
As if its central fire had upward cast 
In one strong flame its genii-guarded might ! 
On — on — and on — no matter what our speed, 
That dreadful sun still shower'd piercing beams, 
That found their focus on our blister'd heads ! 
Yet onward — on — a fainting, wretched few. 
We press'd with earnest zeal towards the goal 
That still receded from our anxious view ; 
Till sighs of grief and groans of deep despair 
Told where some life-chord broke, or footstep fail'd ; 
And they whose hope outsped their body's power, 
"Whose faithless step could bear them on no more, 
Sank yelling, moaning, crawling, on the plain, 
And there unburied rest where last they fell, 
Without a grave where mourning friends might 

weep 
Above the dust they had so loved in life ! 
While others, clinging with their bony hands 
To hands as wasted, with a vice-like grasp, 
Pray'd, with an eloquence from terror born. 
Their fellow-sufterers for a little aid. 
Urging each plea that human pain could use 
For sympathy from lips as parch'd as theirs. 
And promised stores of gold and priceless gems 



THE MIRAGE. 29 

To dying creatures but to heed their cry ! 
But 'want knows no compassion ; and the men 
Whose pity once would save a worm from harm, 
With savage words, and murderous blows of hate. 
Now dash'd their comrades from their side to die; 
Forgetful of a time when they had shared 
Each thought and feeling of old, happy hours, 
And seeing not the disappointed glance 
That told the bitterness and mute reproach. 
That might have roused remorse or wrung a sigh ! 

But when the hopes of those who struggled on 
Were at their wildest height, and the fair scene 
Seem'd nearer, more alluring, than at first. 
It quickly vanish'd from our yearning sight, 
And left no trace of its deceptive green ! 
'Twas gone, — forever gone, — and with it Hope ! 
We gazed upon each others' face, to read 
Some token that the dream was not dispell'd, — 
Some cheering sign that Faith might yet believe ; 
But every brow was wither 'd with the blight 
Of this terrific, horrible despair ! 
Above was stretch'd that merciless blue sky, 
Before, around, that hell of light and sand ! 
Naught else, — no water pure, no waving trees, 
No blossoms peeping from the dewy grass ; 
That sweet Oasis was but false Mirage, 
The Desert's treacherous, delusive scene ; 
And now 'twas gone — our destiny was there ! 
The wilderness our tomb, — the heavens our pall, — 



30 THE MIRAGE. 

Our only couch that awful bed of sand ! 
Stretching where'er we turn'd its glitterings keen, 
It fiU'd our cracking skin, and stung each wound ; 
It choked our throats, and coursed in every vein. 
We would have slain a brother, in that hour, 
Without compunction, and with barbarous glee 
Have revell'd on the corpse, and drain'd each drop 
Of boiling blood that gave our victim life. 
Save that we had no strength to work our will. 
And then — and then — we all went wholly mad ! 

'Twas strange, 'twas terrible, to see the change 
That suffering wrought upon those wandering minds , 
To list the plaintive tones and frantic sounds 
Utter'd by swollen tongues and blacken'd lips ; 
To mark how Memory, strong in this dread hour, 
Painted on each hot brain, with pencil true, 
Her vivid pictures of each stage of life. 
Some babbled of the bubbling brooks that spring 
In shady forest-dells far, far away. 
Beside whose murmuring windings they had roved 
Wlien hope was young and all the future bright ; 
Again they trod the gray and moisten'd stones 
That broke the dimpling stream's calm, singing 

course. 
Or aided, with the untaught grace of love, 
Some trembling maiden o'er the rustic bridge, 
Plucking the waving lilies from their stalks, 
That, seated in some lonely glade, her hand 
Might weave the woodland wild-rose into wreaths 



THE MIRAGE. 31 

Amid the snowy leaves of spray-born flowers, 
While manly voice, in warm and tender strain, 
Defied each lovely blossom e'er to match 
The peerless beauty of her brow and blush ! 

Those, too, there were that told of fearful scenes 
Of bloody conflict, and war's carnage dread. 
And, gathering all of life in one last breath, 
Sprang forward shouting some proud battle-cry, 
Then, falling, died with that triumphant gasp ! 

And there was one that breathed an awful tale 
Of secret sin and hidden, dreadful crime : 
A high and honor'd man, his name of yore 
Had been a country's rallying word of pride ; 
Men bow'd before him, and fair women sued 
To win one flattering look from his cold eye ; 
He moved a star upon his shining path. 
None deeming that the brilliant light of mind 
But hid the darkness of a guilt-drown'd soul ; 
But now, as rang upon the lurid air 
His shrieks of terror or remorseful groans. 
The men who once had bent before his power 
Drew from his hated touch each dying limb. 
And feebly cursed the hope-deserted wretch. 

And some pass'd silently, with breaking hearts, 
Thinking of watchful forms that long would yearn 
To greet the wanderer would return no more ; 
And all had ta'en a last farewell of life. 



82 THE MIRAGE. 

There was a fragile youth with golden hair, 
That all the day had journey'd at my side. 
Amid the trials of our desert march, 
Without a murmur, with unfaltering trust, 
His boyish step kept even pace with mine. 
His slender fingers lay within my hand 
Calmly as if no anguish stirr'd his veins ; 
Though ever and anon, as some new hope 
To tumult roused the passions of my heart, 
My throbbing pulse would leap against his own. 
The cheering pressure of his gentle hand 
Would check the raging burst of feeling's storm ; 
Whilst, pointing with the other wasted arm 
Tow'rd th' horizon's verge, our cheating goal. 
He spoke such words that even those who fled 
With swiftest speed would turn to look again. 
And wonder at the childish shape which breathed, 
Like one inspired, such promises of grace ; 
With steadfast, shining eyes, that never bore 
One trace of bitterness or shade of earth, 
As if an angel exiled from its home. 
And captive-bound within those walls of clay, 
Was gazing from the windows of its cell. 
Till it might soar from bars of human mould, 
To meet, on shores of everlasting streams. 
The seraph forms that hover round it now. 
I do believe that mid that burning waste 
One of God's spirits took me by the hand 
And led me through its lava-floods of light. 
Feeding my soul with manna from the skies ; 



THE MIRAGE. 33 

For ever as he walk'd he chanted o'er 

The lofty strains by Hebrew Psalmist sung, 

Until the vision of that fairy isle 

Perish'd amid those torrid waves of sand ; 

And then his voice grew quivering, faint and low, 

Like tlie last sighs of an Eolian harp, 

After some sweet and glorious melody, 

Before the strings are shatter'd by the blast. 

He wreathed his arm about my blister'd neck 

And feebly bow'd my head till my dark hair 

Mingled its untrain'd length with his bright locks, 

Casting one glance of those large, wondrous eyes 

In sad reproach upon my foaming lip ; 

And hand in hand, his breast against my own, 

We sank together on the plain to die ; 

And all around was suffering, sand, and death, 

And silence scarcely broken, save by groans 

And dying prayers for some who ne'er would know 

That those they loved were faithful to the last. 

And thus we waited Death. The hot svm stood 
In heaven's broad expanse, and downward shone 
With smiling radiance at humbled man, 
Like conquering Titan gazing at the field 
Where rest the tokens of a hard-won strife, 
Then marching on his proud, triumphal course, 
Whose s})lender mocks the victims of his might. 
I could not faint, nor sleep, nor dream, nor die ; 
Only from out the stupor which had wrapp'd 
Each limb and feeling after anguish fierce, 
3 



34 THE MIRAGE. 

My glaring eyes still watch'd that cruel sun, 
Till each red ball seem'd living orbs of flame ; 
And yet I could not move them from the sky, 
Or turn aside my weary, heavy head ; 
And on my bosom lay that young, fair brow, 
Stirless and pale, and wreathed with clustering curls, 
Whose golden beauty seem'd like halo bright, 
His glory's crown won ere his Heaven was reach'd ; 
Still press'd the lovely head upon my heart, 
Till vivid fancy pictured it a world. 
That greater grew with each half-stifled breath. 
Until my frame seem'd whelm'd beneath the mass ; 
And once, when as his pale lips murmur'd out 
With fleeting sigh one passionate, sweet tone, 
The holiest, tenderest word, — a mother's name, — 
Methought an earthquake, with swift, sudden 

shock, 
Had wreck'd the stillness of my forced repose. 
I strove to cast my crushing burden off*, 
But could not move a muscle of my form ; 
I would have raved, but that my swollen tongue , 
Lay parcli'd and blacken'd in my panting mouth, ' 
Like some dead thing, without the power to move. 
Visions of hideous shape o'er-rode my mind ; 
The boy's soft ringlets each seem'd serpent-coils I 
The clinging fingers, but a monster's grasp ! 
And every grain of sand, a living sting ! 
My brain was bursting ! how I wish'd for death. 
As madness slowly banish'd longing thought, — i 
For I was nearly mad 1 



THE LEGEND OF ERROL. 35 

But, hark ! a shout ! 
The hasty tramp of many coming feet! 
The sound of human voices ! and, oh, joy ! 
The flash of water on my spell-bound sight ! 

Another caravan, whose ampler store 

Had borne them safely o'er their desert route, 

Had sought for ours, — urged onward by the bones 

And speechless dead that mark'd our frantic course, 

To save the few, and found its remnant, — me, — 

Yes, — only me ! The angel in my arms 

Had look'd farewell, and wing'd its homeward 

flight. 
E'en as the messengers of hope restored 
My flying reason to its tottering throne ! 
1856. 



THE LEGEND OF ERROL. 

The watch-dog whined the whole long night, 

The wind went wailing past ; 
Strange voices fill'd the castle-halls, 

Strange shriekings swell'd the blast ; 
The firelight flickering on the hearth 

Made shadows on the wall ; 
But mid the chamber's fearful gloom 

Seem'd other shades to fall ! 



36 THE LEGEND OF ERROL. 

From off the large and massive bed 

Was drawn each curtain-fold, 
Where lay a shrouded^ stiffening form, 

That scarcely yet was cold : 
The Miser of the Manor there, 

Whose path the bairns would shun. 
Had died with twilight's fading hues, 

Beloved and blest by none ! 

Within the wide, black chimney-place 

The ruddy blaze burn'd bright: 
'Twas many a year since that dark room 

Had known so rare a sight ! 
And crouch'd upon a little stool 

Beside the fitful flame, 
With skinny hands and shaking head, 

There sat an aged dame ! 

An arm-chair, deep and high and worn, 

Held one as angels fair, 
But half a child, with snowy dress 

And shining, golden hair, — 
The old man's niece, — the Ladye Maude, 

The last of that proud race : 
How ev6r came from such a stock 

A flower so full of grace ? 

And hovering o'er the embers red, 
As lull'd the wind's sad wail. 

That palsied hag, in solemn tones, 
Told some unearthly tale 



THE LEGEND OF ERROL. 87 

Of startling omens, potent spells, 

Of graves at midnight robb'd, 
Of trance-bound sleep, and buried forms 

Wherein the life still throbb'd. 

The Ladye Maude grew pale with fear, 

Her eyes grew wild with dread, 
Thus listening to that toothless crone, 

Thus looking on the dead ; 
She could not move a single limb. 

But sat with lips apart, 
And hands tight clasp'd upon her breast 

To still her beating heart. 

The clock struck twelve ; her blood ran cold, 

As rang day's solemn knell. 
And on her soul with each slow stroke 

A greater terror fell ; 
For, as each echo sank away, 

The weird witch at her knee 
An incantation chanted low, 

Of ancient glamourie ! 

A wild idea fill'd her brain. 

And stopp'd her smother'd breath ; 
She deem'd that mystic summons woke 

The ghastly ranks of Death ; 
She thought the corpse rose from its bed 

And trod with muffled feet ; 
The firelight through the shadowy gloom 

Waved like a winding-sheet I 



38 THE LEGEND OF ERROL. 

A sudden shudder broke the spell ; 

Then, nerved with frenzied might, 
She shrieking rush'd through those dark halls 

Out in the cold, bleak night, 
And left that withered demon there 

To keep her watch alone, 
To hide the miser's stolen gold 

Beneath the broad hearthstone ! 

The banner'd flagstaff crashing fell 

Mid newly waken'd blast; 
The mastiff ceased his warning howl 

As that slight figure pass'd ; 
And one who, sleepless, saw the storm 

That gather'd in the sky, 
Long after told, in humble homes, 

How flew that vision by ! 

Loch Errol's falls were white with spray, 

Loch Errol lay below ; 
The rough rocks on Loch ErroFs side 

Were veil'd in stainless snow ; 
And, pure as that unsullied snow 

Fresh from its cloudy home, 
A fair thing slept at morning's dawn 

Amid Loch Errol's foam ! 

With arms entwined with golden hair, 

And cross'd on stirless breast. 
She floated on Loch Errol's wave, 

Unheeding its unrest ; 



LAUREL HILL. 39 

The bride of Death, in white array'd, 

With childish, angel face, 
Loch Errol bore to Heaven's gate 

The last of Errol's race I 



LAUREL HILL. 



In this cemetery, situated a few miles from Philadelphia, 
are deposited the mortal remains of Joseph C. Neal, over 
whose last resting-place a beautiful and emblematic monu- 
ment has been erected to his memory, by friends " who had 
loved him as a man and admired him as an author." 

With chasten'd spirit wandering mid the graves, 
I pass'd an hour afar from worldly sound, 

Where earthly care no longer Toil enslaves. 

Where silence only, and Death's types, abound. 

The soothing stillness of the summer air. 

The waving trees that shadow'd sculptured stone, 

The unknown names of those who moulder'd there, 
Subdued my soul like music's solemn tone. 

I mark'd the token that Affection rears 
Above the buried dust so loved in life ; 

Where fragrant flowers, nursed by Sorrow's tears. 
Adorn the sod where rests a child or wife ; 



40 LAUREL HILL. 

And paused a moment by a lonely spot, 
The unrecorded mound wherein may sleep 

Some nameless waif, whose unremember'd lot 
Found naught to hope and left no fi'iend to weep. 

How many minds unconquer'd by their fate. 

How many brains that throbb'd with feverish 
thought, 
How many wordless yearnings for the great, 

Have found beyond this bourn the goal they 
sought ! 

What garner'd wisdom, what unwritten lore, 
What glowing visions, and what noble worth. 

Have shone unvalued, then dropp'd back once more 
Like unset jewels into mines of earth ! 

Here stately monuments of graceful art 
Proclaim the virtues of the flatter'd dead : 

How oft an epitaph exalts a heart 

Whose deeds no lustre on its life-time shed ! 

Yet here, apart, mid calm, sequestered glade, 
A pathway winds, by pilgrim homage worn, 

Where generous Love and Friendship's tasteful aid 
Have shrined the relics whose repose they mourn. 

Rough from the quarry hewn, in shapeless grace 
Th' unpolish'd block of virgin marble stands. 

And forms the massive but unmodell'd base 
Where chisell'd urn admiring praise commands. 



THE OLD GUARD AT WATJ:RL00. 41 

Expressive symbol of tlie mind unwrought, 
Till Time to Labor's work perfection brings, 

And kindred souls, fulfilling Nature's thought, 
Undying laurels carve where ivy clings. 

-Twas minstrel's truest type, that needs no words. 
The stringless lyre leaning on thy grave ! 

Death early loosed thy spirit's " silver chords," 
And still'd the music that thy being gave. 

Yet Hope's proud dreams might ask no more of 
Fame 

Than such a tribute for an honor'd tomb, 
Where tears of grief bedew the cherish'd name, 

And glory spreads her bays of fadeless bloom ! 



THE OLD GUARD AT WATERLOO. 
"La Garde Imperiale meurt, mais ne se rend pas !" 

TiiEY were as " giants on the earth," those demi- 
gods of France, 

When their chieftain gave the signal for their eagles 
to advance ; 

For they knew their columns ever led the fortune 
of the day, 

And where their standard floated was the thickest 
of the fray ! 



42 THE OLD GUARD AT WATERLOO. 

Their comrades fell before their eyes, crush'd b}' 

the iron rain, — 
They trampled on their prostrate forms, and fiU'd 

the ranks again ! 
No time to grieve o'er loved ones then, no time for 

tears to flow ! 
They only dream'd of glory's wreath, their monarch, 

and the foe ! 

All Europe trembled as they march'd, their only 

music, groans ; 
For on their storied valor hung the safety of her 

thrones ! 
With stern, unfaltering footsteps they trod that 

dreadful field. 
Their motto graven on their minds, — to die, but not 

to yield ! 

Mid the roaring of the cannon, amid the flash of 

swords. 
Arose from falling warriors these dauntless, noble 

words ! 
Their gaping wounds were ruddy, they fought mid 

waves of blood. 
But the "Old Guard" yielded never, and each died 

where he stood ! 

What cared they that each onward step was nearer 

to the grave. 
When at their head rode fearless Ney, the bravest 

of the brave ? 



THE OLD GUARD AT WATERLOO. 43 

These victors of unnumber'd fights braved death 

without a sigh ; 
Wliat reck'd these heroes where they fell, if th' 

Emperor saw them die ? 

Mapoleon ! how they loved that name, their pride 

in peace or war ! 
That sound baptized in bloody shrines, full many a 

ghastly scar ! 
Its echoes rang from Lodi's bridge through every 

age and land ; 
It lived within the hearts and deeds of this adoring 

band ! 

As faster flew the countless shot, they fell by hun- 
dreds then ; 

Yet steady and unbroken stood that square of 
valiant men ! 

For when balls and charging squadrons some fatal 
breach had made, 

They, fighting, wheel'd, and form'd again, as though 
upon parade ! 

Their very foes look'd on amazed to see such des- 
perate strife, 

And sent a messenger to stay this reckless loss of 
life,— 

•To summon these proud veterans to acknowledge 
their defeat ; 

jBut they shouted, " Vive Napoleon I" and perish 'd 
at his feet I 



4-1 THE OLD GUARD AT WATERLOO. 

Cambronne, their leader, struggled still amid a 

bleeding few, 
The last of all the brilliant host that went to 

Waterloo ! 
The Allies ceased their murderous fire, the day was 

nearly done, 
When their herald bade him render up the glory he 

had won ! 

The warrior rear'd his wounded form, and, glancing 

proudly round, 
He pointed with his crimson'd blade where dead 

men heap'd the ground ; 
Then rang above the battle-plain the world-renown'd 

reply, 
" The Old Guard ne'er surrender ; the Old Guard 

only die V 

And thus they pass'd invincible, unvanquish'd save 
by Death, 

Napoleon in their dying thought and on their latest 
breath. 

They sprang to birth at his command, they vanish'd 
with his fall, 

As sunbeams always rise and set around their parent- 
ball. 



napoleon's legacy. 45 



NAPOLEON'S LEGACY. 

Shortly before his death, the Emperor was asked by Madame 
Bertrand, under whose protection he wished to leave his 
son. "I will leave my son under the protection of the 
French Army !" was the reply. 

There, on the captive's barren rock, 

Imprison'd by the sea, 
The great man's heart bequeth'd to France 

A precious legacy. 
No countless store of hidden gold. 

No secret worth a throne, 
No priceless gem of sacred Art : — 

These were no more his own ! 
He left no crowns for traitor brows, 

No lands his sword had won : 
A nobler trust was thine, fair France, — 

His darling, only son ! 

Not from the Bourbon line of kings. 

Not from the fickle crowd, 
Not from the courtier train that once 

Before his glory bow'd, 
Not from the haughty Fleur de Lis, 

O'er humbled Gallia flung, 
The chain'd and dying lion sought 

Protection for his young ! 



46 napoleon's legacy. 

But to the army he had loved — 

The Legion of the Brave, 
The veterans of a hundred fields — 

This solemn charge he gave ! 

'Twas to the eagles he had rear'd 

In Alpine eyries high, 
And train'd " the Sun of Austerlitz" 

To face with fearless eye ! 
To whom he gave his sad embrace 

At Fontainebleau's review, 
And only saw their proud wings droop 

At stormy Waterloo ! 
'Twas but to these Napoleon left 

His dearest, last bequest. 
To guard their chieftain's child when he, 

The sire, should be at rest ! 

warriors of the Empire, 

What answer shall ye make 
To the well-known form that waits ye 

By Acheron's dark lake ? 
Will ye point to old Vienna, 

Who saw his conquests there, 
And bid him seek mid kindred foes 

His kingdom's crownless heir ? 
Oh, little worth the monarch's trust 

In these, the tried and brave, 
Who, living, left Napoleon's son 

To fill a captive's grave ! 



THE WORLD AND THE DREAMER. 47 



THE WOKLD AND THE DREAMER. 

" Up and be doing \" cries the busy world, 

Forever hastening to a golden goal : 
" Why sitt'st thou idle thus, with folded hands, 

While all around thee tides of action roll ? 
Labor. to live! and live alone for work ! 

This is man's destiny ! Come, take thy share! 
Cast off the sloth of visions ! murder dreams ! 

He conquers most whose will the most shall 
dare V 

Brave words, world ! I hear their cheerful tones. 
And raise my looks where strives thy restless 
throng, 
Where Wealth and Power tread o'er prostrate necks. 
Where Right falls wearied 'neath the blows of 
Wrong ! 
I see the many panting in the race 

Up Gain's steep hill, Avith glittering baubles strewn, 
Toil, ftiil, and sink, spurn'd downward by the few 
Who smile at suffering from self's guilt-won 
throne ! 

I list the music of thy ceaseless work. 

The anvil's sound, the steam-king's mighty breath, 
The march of eager feet through learning's road. 

And Triumph's song of names unknown to Death ! 



48 THE WORLD AND THE DREAMER. 

Yet hear above the chorus of thy strain 
The echoes which have fiU'd each age of time, — 

The groans of serfs, the shrieks of martyr'd faith, 
Oppression's shout o'er Freedom slain by crime ! 

I will not enter mid thy wild unrest, 

Nor bind my thoughts on Custom's grinding wheel, 
Nor cringe to tyrant Pride, though purple-robed, 

Nor yield my new-born dreams to Action's steel ! 
God feeds my soul on visions, as of yore 

He fiird his chosen ones with heavenly bread : 
And shall I scorn this manna of the skies, 

To be, like them, on earthly viands fed ? 

Pass on, world : we have our separate paths : — 

Thou to the busy battle-field of life, 
The dreamer, I, to stay apart with peace 

And mark the currents of thy endless strife ! 
But mind shall labor, though my life be still, 

My soul be brave, although my armor rust ; 
And e'en thy warriors yet may turn aside 

To hold communion with my sleeping dust ! 



il 



THE UNWRITTEN ELEGY. 49 



THE UNWRITTEN ELEGY. 

Shelley, whose Elegy on Keats is one of the most exquisite 
poems in the English language, has yet to receive the same 
homage to his own genius. 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, 

Bard of a magic lyre, — 
Whose subtle music thrills high souls 

With more than transient fire, — 
Whose dreamy tenderness of song, 

And delicate, rich tone. 
Might win a wandering Peri's voice 

To make the strain its own ? 

Has no one writ thine Elegy ? — 

No mourner at thy tomb 
Cast down a single fadeless flower 

To decorate its gloom ? 
Not one ambitious minstrel-hand 

To snatch a leaf of fame 
To shine amid th' immortal light 

Reflected from thy name ? 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, — 

Whose eloquence of woe 
Could o'er the broken-hearted dead 

In such deep pathos flow, 



50 THE UNWRITTEN ELEGY. 

That even they whose cruel scorn 

The poison'd arrow sent 
Have wept o'er Adonais' bier, 

Subdued by Love's Lament ? 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, — 

Whose spirit scaled the skies 
Upon the ladder of sweet sounds 

The lark rears as she flies, — 
Who clairn'd companionship with clouds, 

And, like their sparkling dew, 
Whose freshening thoughts made many a flower 

Of life spring up anew ? 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, — 

Whose clear and brilliant mind 
Had rent with fearless hand the veil 

That Custom's minions bind 
Upon the shining brow of Truth 

To hide her glory's rays, 
Then never from her halo's glow 

Turn'd back thine earnest gaze ? 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, — 

Who trod with reverent feet 
Mid Nature's praise-resounding aisles, 

Where man and mysteries meet, — 
Who found in forest, mount, or sea 

Thy soul's unending feast. 
Till symphonies of ringing words 

Proclaim'd Creation's Priest? 



THE UNWRITTEN ELEGY. 51 

Has no one writ thine Elegj^, — 

Not even he whose hand 
Unto thy classic funeral pyre 

Applied the kindling brand, — 
Whose poet-soul had shared with thine 

The scorns and wounds of Fate, 
And e'en whose last libation pour'd 

To Friendship waken'd Hate ! 

Has no one writ thine Elegy, — 

None of thy kindred band ? 
Ho ! Master Singers of the world ! 

Ho ! Bards of every land ! 
Ho ! ye whose words have sway'd the throng 

When echoed from his lute ! 
Because the nightingale is still, 

Are other warblers mute ? 

Will no one write his Elegy? — 

Come, gather round his urn. 
And each, like Magi at a shrine. 

His share of incense burn ! 
What nobler, prouder theme than this 

Can human purpose find. 
On which to string your gems of thought, 

Ye monarchs of the mind ? 

Will no one write his Elegy ? — 

Laureate of a throne, 
Forget the scenes of ages fled : 

Immortalize thine own ! 



52 BORN. 

From "Morte d'Arthur" turn thy dreams 

To that one grave at Rome, 
Till floats o'er England's modern dead 

A requiem from home ! 

Will no one write his Elegy ? — 

Unsung his ashes wait 
The tribute which the bard alone 

Can render to the great. 
Then hasten, troubadours of earth, 

Thy gifts of song to bring. 
Till unto Shelley's name all hearts 

In answering echoes ring ! 
1857. 



BORN. 

A REQUIEM and a jubilee ! 

An infant born, a mother dead ! 
A storm without, a wail within ! 

A starless heaven overhead ! 
A father's half-averted eye ! 

Hot tears above a white robe shed ! 
A flickering firelight in the room, 
Strange shadows swaying mid the gloom, 
A broken flower, a bud's fresh bloom, 
A life that wrought its giver's doom ! 



DEAD. 53 

Thus welcomed in an ominous hour, 
A new soul waken'd on the earth, 

"With snow and hail on striving winds, 
With death and sorrow on the hearth ! 

What fate is hid in coming years 
Thus heralded by such a birth ? 

A loveless childhood, wild and lone ! 

A youth of yearnings crush'd, unknown I 

A heart with idols overthrown ! 

A woman's lot ! Moan, baby, moan ! 



DEAD. 

Dead ! 
The damp, dark mould enwraps her form ; 

The eyes are darkened evermore ; 
The pallid hands hold wither'd buds ; 
Dust gathers where was bloom before. 
Life's joys, life's hopes, life's tears are o'er ; 
For she is dead ! 

Dead ! 
The grave is Lethe for all care : 

There dwells the peace her years knew not : 
Regrets are hush'd, remorse is still : 
Her very love will be forgot 
By those who shared her shaded lot ; 
For she is dead ! 



64 THE SAINT-ESPRIT. 

Dead! 
One stands beside the sculptured tomb, 
And reads her name upon the stone : 
In youth's proud hour she crush'd his dreams 
And yet he comes, the last, alone, 
To weep for her was ne'er his own 
Till she was dead ! 

Dead! 
A stranger fills her place at home ; 

The weeds grow thick around her grave : 
One plucks a flower from the sod 
That henceforth over land and wave 
Will throb on heart that faithful gave 
Love strong as Death ! 



THE SAINT-ESrRIT. 



The Saint-Esprit, or Flower of the Holy Ghost, is the small 
hlossom of an air-plant, so called from the striking resem- 
blance in its appearance to that of a dove with half-closed 
wings sitting in the cup of a lily. 

Afar on the waves of the blue Southern Ocean, 
Like a beauty asleep on her lover's fond breast, 

Lies the fairest of isles, while the sea's fond emotion 
Swells in billowy kisses that brighten her rest. 



THE SAINT-ESPRIT. 55 

For no water that rolls has foam-crest so golden 
As these sun-lighted pulses that throb on her 
shore ; 
And no sage has e'er dream'd over mysteries so olden 

As that fathomless deep could to ages restore. 
And 'tis murmuring now, mid its love's wild em- 
bracing, 
Some rare legend to waken the silence of morn, 
While on scent-laden wings of the winds, that are 
chasing 
Our snowy-sail'd bark, the sweet echoes are borne ! 

Encircled by hills, a lone valley is hidden 

In the midst of this isle, still untrodden by man, — 
An emblem of Eden ere its fruit was forbidden. 

Ere humanity's sin or creation began ! 
Like some fleet, graceful Almee who wreathes, as 
she dances, 
Her many-hued scarf mid her loose, shining hair, 
Then, bounding away from the slaves she entrances. 
To a couch strewn with blossoms, sinks breath- 
lessly there ! 
Thus a spray-spangled stream, through the mossy 
rocks winding. 
Leaps suddenly down, with a gay, mocking tone, 
The rainbow-dyes still mid its foam-tresses binding, 

As it falls in a lake of queen-lilies the throne ! 
Like armies of giants renown'd in old stories. 
Here forests primeval spread their evergreen 
glades, 



56 THE SAINT-ESPRIT. 

Where birds with the plumage of sunsetting glories 
Are sparkling like jewels mid the dim, dusky 
shades, 
Or warbling like Peris through Paradise straying, 

Till with rapturous music the green arches ring, 
While their leaf-hidden nests are gracefully swaying 
On the wild, fragrant vines that so tenderly cling 
Round these veterans of nature, their branches en- 
twining. 
Till a labyrinth of verdure o'er-roofs all the scene, 
And the brightness of day, in scatter'd beams shin- 
ing, 
Makes a network below of shadow and sheen ! 

And here 'mong the parasite plants that embower 

The aisles of a temple whose sole incense is song, 
There blossoms, air-nurtured, a delicate flower, 

Round whose marvellous beauty rare fancies may 
throng ! 
In days that have vanish'd, there stood by the river 

That rolls through the Orient its world-hallow'd 
wave. 
The Christ clothed in manhood mankind to deliver, 

And John the Baptizer, with warning to save ! 
When, lo ! from the cloud o'er the holy group 
bending. 

Floats the Spirit of God, in the form of a dove. 
And there on the head of the Saviour descending 

Lights a token of purity, promise, and love ! 



THE SAINT-ESPRIT. 57 

Soon their steps from the shores of the Jordan 
retreating, 
The Prophet and Lord journey onward to die ; 
While the messenger-dove, its mission completing. 
Its si^otless wings spreads, o'er the wide world to 
fly! 
But where on this earth shall the heaven-born rover 

Find a home all unsullied by traces of sin, 
A shelter still guileless and worthy to cover 

The pure breast that late harbor'd God's Spirit 
within ? 
It floats o'er the wilderness, sails o'er the mountain. 
Skims the rivers and lakes, resting noonday nor 
night. 
Or longingly lingers by some wild-wood or fountain ; 
But the taint of man's presence still urges its 
flight ! 

Its pinions, still stainless, had ceased not their 
motion 

Since they soar'd from the halo on His holy head, 
Till over this isle in the far Southern Ocean, 

Its pilgrimage ended, their flutterings are led. 
Where, wheeling mid trees that through clouds 
seem to tower, 

It slowly sinks down, seeking refuge and rest, 
Till at last the lily-leaved cup of this flower 

Spreads a velvety coucli for its white, weary breast ; 
And, with plumage half folded, it silently slumbers, 

Now forever a part of this blossom so rare. 



58 AN OLD STORY. 

While, harp-like, its tendrils vibrate with the num- 
bers 
Of melodies rich that the winds waken there ! 

Its seeds, like the feathers of birds that are flying, 
Float away, and find root in the soft, stirring 
breeze. 
That evermore thus near the waterfall sighing 
Drapes the forest around, with entwined Saint- 
Esprits, 
Till the dark, shady woods are white with the glory 

Of flowers untainted by contact with earth, 
While the foam-crested waves repeat the strange 
story 
Of this wonderful nestling of heavenly birth ! 
Thus murmur'd the Sea, mid its love's wild era- 
bracing, 
This new legend to waken the silence of morn, 
And on scent-laden wings of the wind, that was 
chasing 
Our snowy-sail'd bark, the faint echoes were borne I 



AN OLD STORY. 



Once on an autumn day, in bygone years, 
Two lovers stood beside a lonely grave ; 

And, as they read the story on the stone. 
Both throbbing hearts a sigh of sorrow gave. 



AN OLD STORY. 59 

'Twas sad, — that record of an ended life : 

It told of one, a woman young and fair, 
Who sprang to meet the glory of her spring, 

Then brought its faded, storm-crush'd blossoms 
there ! 
She loved, and died ; and o'er her shrouded form 

The heavy sods lay black and damp and cold, 
While crimson leaves, like her own glowing hopes, 

Were falling tliick, and mingling with the mould ! 

They read, and gazed into each other's eyes ; 

Then spake the girl half sadly through her tears : — 
*' And is this all that life can give to love, 

And all that love accords to patient years ? 
Rest for the wearied and broken heart, 

And grave where only strangers stop to weep ? 
And yet perchance 'twere better thus to lose, 

Amid the dreamless quiet of death's sleep, 
The bitter knowledge of affection lost, 

Than live to mourn youth's perish'd love and 
faith 
My own beloved, should such fate e'er be mine, 

Pray God mine too may be an early death !" 

He still'd her new-born fear with tender words. 
And swore, beside the stranger's warning tomb, 

That Time should ne'er his fervent truth destroy. 
And bade her chase her brow's prophetic gloom ! 

?he was but woman : so, with yearning heart. 
She wept and listen'd, smiled and still believed ; 



60 PRAYER AT THE POLE. 

And arm in arm they turn'd from that sad mound, 
Forgetting all the thought that there had grieved ! — 
But when the autumn leaves had changed their 
shade 
Once more from glossy green to falling gold, 
Their fading glories deck'd another grave, 

And she was young who shared that couch of 
mould ! 



PRAYER AT THE POLE. 

*' Just before we started [on the return with the rescued 
men], while the rest of the party surrounded the sledge, Dr. 
Kane rendered thanks to the Great Ruler of human destinies 
for the goodness He had evinced in preserving our feeble lives 
while struggling over the ice desert, exposed to a blast almost 
as withering as that from a furnace. The scene was exceed- 
ingly solemn, as, deeply impressed by our situation, our com- 
mander poured forth ready and eloquent sentences of gratitude 
in that lonely solitude, whose scenery offered every thing to 
depress the mind, nothing to cheer it. Not a word fell from 
his lips that did not find a response in our hearts, when we 
reflected upon the dangers we had vmdergone, and the certainty 
of death which would have followed a continuance of ex- 
posure for even a few hours." — (Quoted from the Narrative of 
Wilson in Dr. Elder's "Life of Kane.") 

A LITTLE group of worn-out men, 

With weary limbs and shatter'd forms, 

Whose stalwart wills and gallmt hearts 
Were strong to face dark danger's storms ! 



PRAYER AT THE POLE. 61 

And one amidst them, slight of frame, 
And pale from strife with death and pain, 

A hero's soul, whose martyr zeal 

Bore nobly suffering's cankering chain ! 

They met within the solemn aisles 

Of ice-built shrine, a temple grand, 
Alone upon a frozen sea, 

The saving and the rescued band, 
Mid crystal columns rear'd aloft 

Against a gray and cloud-draped dome, — 
The only thing — that shadow'd sky — 

In all the waste that look'd like home ! 

They stood with bow'd, uncovered heads, 

With reverent mien and moisten 'd eyes, 
Remembering scenes that long had pass'd, 

Recalling love's most tender ties. 
As softly on the keen, cold air 

Their leader's voice rose calm and clear, 
And raised, like prophet's tone, the hope 

That in each heart had found a bier. 

Few words of humble, grateful praise. 

For guidance, life, and rest, a prayer, 
A low "Amen" from quivering lips, 

Were all the pomps of service there ! 
It gave them strength to conquer death ; 

It made them brave to dare and do ; 
It kept them faithful to the end, 

A band of brothers, tried and true ! 



62 ONE LIFE. 

Then bless them, souls of Christian men 

O'er all the earth who praise and pra\r ; 
And bless him, most of all, their chief, 

Who first in duty led the way, — 
Who first upon those regions drear 

Of frozen, unknown waters spoke 
The name of Christ, whose world-bless'd sound 

The solitude of silence broke ! 

Those polar mounts of ice may melt 

Beneath the Arctic's summer skies ; 
May speed the nations' hoarded wealth. 

And 'neath the tropics ebb and rise ; 
Yet bear abroad, where'er they flow. 

That baptism of the holy Name 
They echoed from his voice who died 

And left those bergs to spread his fame ! 
1858. 



ONE LIFE. 

Low and lone in the church-yard corner 

Is a grave we saw not before : 
There's one who was restless and erring. 

Will weary on earth nevermore I 
There are feet that have ceased from straying 

In paths of folly and shame, 
Ked lips that the white worms are kissing, 

An unwept and unhonor'd name ! 



ONE LIFE. 63 

She had youth and beauty and fancy, 

She had passions, tempting, and sin, 
She laugh'd loudest at reckless revels, 

While her heavy heart wept within ; 
She fetter'd all men with her glances. 

She thrill'd them with touch of her hand ; 
She was fairest and highest and lowest 

Of the city's Cyprian band ! 

There, were those who scorn'd her for sinning. 

Who " pass'd by on the other side,^' 
Who shunn'd her as one that was leprous, 

Unclean to their purified pride, 
Who vetoed with sceptres of virtue 

Her claims upon sympathy's care, 
Who frown'd on her dawning repentance, 

Or blush'd her back into desj)air ! 

Her heart was the heart of a woman, 

And her soul was a human soul ; 
She had feelings, yearnings, and trials, 

And a name for God's judgment-roll ! 
It may be, in some soften'd moment, 

Love's sisterly, winning tone 
May have guided her steps from evil, 

Till they paused by the great white throne ! 

She heard not the calls that were murmur 'd 

By those standing off and apart : 
So she laugh'd defiance at preachers, 

And strangled the pain in her heart ! 



64 CALLS AND RESPONSES. 

And she died, society's outcast ; 

But perchance, mid her life of shame, 
Some charities secret and precious 

In heaven have whiten'd her name ! 



CALLS AND RESPONSES. 

" Poet, upHfting thy soft, earnest eyes, 
Looking w^ith lofty rapture o'er the earth, 

What thinkest thou of this, the Avondrous sphere 
Whereon thy strain melodious had birth V 

" Earth is the mother of the Beautiful, 

And vv^ears new glories every passing day ; 
My soul grows drunken with her loveliness, 

And longs forever mid her wealth to stay ; 
My song interprets then to colder hearts 

The mighty mysteries of her wordless tone, 
And, priest-like chanting through the temple- 
aisles, 

Leads up the people to the Maker's throne.'^ 

" True, Beauty's worshipper, thy world is fair, 
But should be loved because 'tis sacred too ; 

For God's own feet have trod its precious soil: 
Jehovah hallow'd earth by passing through.*^ 

" Philosopher, who countest heaven's bright orbs, 
Thou lonely watcher of the moonlight night, i 



CALLS AND RESPONSES. 65 

Wiiat seems to thee this planet of our own, 
Whereon thy sense first saw the morn's rich 
light V 

" Earth moves upon her orbit in the skies, 

A mite mid space, and yet a shining star, 
Whereon all other constellations gaze, 

And hail a sister in this speck afar. 
And thus the lore which Eastern Magi taught 

Of suns and systems fills this heart of mine, 
Where evermore those distant, glowing lights 

Shed o'er life's trial-storms a peace divine." 

" Yet should they lift thy soul with purer joy, 
Joy that the Orient sages never felt. 

That, mid these myriads of brighter worlds, 
On thine alone God the Redeemer dwelt !" 

"0 weeper, sorrowing over broken hopes, 
Who seest all things through a veil of tears. 

Forget a little while thy mournful past; 
Say how to thee thy parent globe appears." 

" Earth spread before the vision of my youth 

A vast, sweet garden fill'd with fragrant flowers. 
Time taught me soon each blossom hid a thorn. 

And pain repaid the bliss of happy hours. 
Now look I forth, and see rare glories still, 

Yet know the sting that lurks 'neath every prize ; 
And so, mid earth's green fields and clustering 
fruit, 

My anguish'd spirit faint with sorrow lies !" 
5 



bb THE QUESTION. 

" 'Twas in the Garden of Gethsemane 
Christ's agony and sweat of blood were borne : 

The brows that bend 'neath weight of human cross 
Wear never laurel, but are crown'd with thorn." 

Sage, singer, sufferer, man, whate'er thou art, 

Look proudly forth across this world of thine, 
And glory in thy grand humanity : 

'Twas made in image of the One Divine ! 
'Tis higher, too, than highest angel forms ; 

For ours, not theirs, the nature that was ta'en, 
"When sinless Jesus died like mortal man, 

And soar'd in human form to heaven again ! 
And love thy earth ; 'tis sanctified for time. 

Since she has held dead Christ within her breast. 
These, moulds of dust, should make thy noblest 
pride. 

Since most in these thou and thy earth v»^ere 
blest. 



THE QUESTION. 



An angel ever stands 

Beside the portals barr'd 

Where spirits enter in 
The kingdom of the King, 

Enfranchised of their sin. 



-, 



THE QUESTION. 67 

He holds within his hands 
The hook of human fate, 

Wherein he marks each name 
With signs that seraphs know 
Of glory or of shame. 

For 'tis his solemn place 
To ask the newly dead 

Who seek for entrance there, 
• The question which decides 
Their bliss or their desj^air. 
Before his shining face 

But truth can stand unveil'd ; 

And all that hear his tone 
Must answ^er justly then, 
Uncounsell'd and alone. 

That angel will not ask, 

" What money hast thou won ? 

What conquests hast thou made ? 
What pleasure hast thou gain'd? 

What homage hast thou paid ?" 
No I his is sterner task : 
The w'ords that he will say 

Will quell each trembling soul. 
Will waken mortal fear, 

Reviewing memory's roll. 

" What hast thou done with time V 
Thus will the angel speak; — 
" What of thy days of life, 



68 DIED YOUNG. 

Returning nevermore, 
With good or evil rife ? 
Time lost is man's worst crime: 

Well spent, it is the key- 
That opens heaven's gate. 

Art worthy ? or hast found 
Time's value all too late ?" 

What hast thou done with time? 
Ponder it, fellow-man ; 

Think of it, dust of earth : 
God lends thee time till death ; 

'Tis borrow'd at thy birth. 
What hast thou done with time ? 
When hours of breath are o'er, 

Canst answer, " Faithful, Lord, 
And see the gates of pearl 

Unclose before the word ? 



DIED YOUNG. 

Died young ! About those little, common words 
A mournful cadence ever seems to cling, 

Like echoes of a broken song, that still 
A sense of yearning to our spirits bring. 

Died young ! The living who remain grow gray, 
And yet these dead stand in our memories' light, 

Unwither'd, fresh, untouch'd by time and care, 
Or glorified, perchance, by faith's fond sight. 



DIED YOUNG. G9 

Died young ! We think of tliein too oft as fruit 
Blighted by frost before the ripening hour, 

Or with a selfish pain that on our path 

Should fade the beauty of an opening flower. 

Died young ! They have escaped so much of sin, 
So much of sorrow, and such stings of shame, 

That gratitude should mingle with our grief, 

Knowing these dear ones kept their youth's pure 
name. 

Died young ! They had not lost their eager hope, 
Their glad, first trust in all that seemeth fair, 

The power to dream, to revel in romance, 
Or bring a guileless soul to God in prayer. 

Died young ! Experience had never torn 
The roseate veil from Nature's face away, 

Forced tears for perish'd loves and friendships slain, 
Or shown them that their idols were of clay. 

Died young ! They left the bitterness of life, 
Uncrown'd with thorns, unwearied by the cross ; 

And, if we miss them on our own bleak road. 
To us, to us alone comes thought of loss ! 

Died young ! Leap'd warm into the vale of death, 
Which we with solemn step shall one day tread, 

And then, dear friends grown old with this world's ill, 
We meet our youth again, with earth's young 
dead ! 



AGNES. 



AGNES. 



The fading glory of an autumn day 
Flasli'd through the west, then died to dusk away, 
Its red beams lingering, in a quaint old room, 
On two that noted not the gathering gloom. 

For they were lovers. She had yielded all, 
HojDe, faith, and dreams, unto his passion's thrall ; 
They both were young and fair, nor yet had seen 
The freshness vanish from youth's early green ! 

His arms were round her ; like a fluttering dove, 
Her heart was folded in its nest of love ; 
Her swimming eyes gazed up into his OAvn, 
Meeting the wordless thoughts that there, too, 
shone. 

The world was nought to them : their love was life; 
Each passing moment was with memories rife ; 
And, as his hand play'd fondly mid her hair. 
He pictured forth the home they both should share. 

Drawing her blushing brow upon his breast. 
His quivering lips then on her own he press'd, 
Murmuring in broken accents, all the while. 
How all through life his light should be her smile. 



AGNES. 71 

And both were happy, — in each other's eyes 
Watching the love-light art can ne'er disguise ; 
A moment heedless of th' impending cloud 
AVhose shadow soon their future must enshroud. 

For they were parting, — he to seek once more 

His distant home upon another shore, 

And she to mourn in solitude and tears 

O'er time's slow march, affection's tender fears. 

He held her long in one close, wild embrace, 
Both trembling on each other's brow to trace 
The passing semblance of a bitter dread 
Lest absence on their love some change should shed. 

Her sudden sobs the boding silence broke. 
While he in passion's whisper'd accents spoke : — 
" Dearest, I love thee, — love but only thee : 
Thou art the star that guides my destiny ! 

" My best beloved, I will return once more. 
And then — and then — our partings will be o'er ! 
I will be true as though still at thy side, — 
True as if thou wert all my own, my bride !" 

Slowly she calm'd the tumult of her tears, 
And cast aside the memory of her fears. 
Answering, with trust unfaltering, " I too 
Will be forever faithful, ever true !" 



72 AGNES. 

Once more their bursting hearts together beat, 
Once more their lips the parting kiss repeat ; 
And then, with one last look, he turn'd away, 
Leaving her weeping mid her hopes to pray. 



Her days moved slowly by, and grew to years, — 
A sad procession calendar'd with tears, — 
And yet he came not. Still unwed and fair, 
She learned her woman's lot, a silent grief to bear I 



For months his letters cheer'd her lonely way : 
Oft read, caressed, they on her bosom lay, 
To lighten every evil life could bring, 
And hours of sunshine o'er her path to fling. 

At length she saw a shade of coldness steal 
Amid their warmth, no language could conceal ; 
She rent the veil of eloquence apart, 
And read the naked truth with bleeding heart. 

His life was brilliant ; mid its busy tide, 

That dream of tenderness was drown'd and died ; 

In gradual change his idol less became. 

Till all remain'd was memory and a name I 

He was not false, — but nature made him light ; 
His fancy roved to each thing new and bright; 
And, deeming that he truly loved the while. 
He watch'd the passion fade, with fickle smile. 



AGNES. 73 

She loved him, — loved as only women love, 

Her thought of him all other thought above. 

She saw her god lie shatter'd by a breath, 

And crush'd with foot of pride her hopes to death ! 



The years pass'd on ; and yet she still was young, 
And fame upon her brows its bays had flung ; 
Fortune with gold had paved her triumph's road ; 
No trace of sorrow mid her beauty show'd ! 



And then he came. Upon that distant shore 
Her glory reach'd him ; and he longed once more. 
With something of the olden love, to gaze 
On lier whose power had won a world-wide praise. 

They met ; and he, remembering, thought to see 
The same slight girl his Agnes used to be. 
With floating curls, and earnest, tender eyes. 
And artless mien unspoil'd by worldly guise. 

They met, — amid a ball-room's restless crowd. 
With startled grace, as to a queen he bow'd. 
"Surely," he mused, "that woman proud and gay 
Cannot be her I parted from one day, — 

"Cannot be her who wept upon my arm 
In all the passion of love's fond alarm, — 
Who clung to me, and prcss'd her lips to mine, 
Murmuring, 'Beloved, I am only thine!' 



74 AGNES. 

" It is not true ! She could not meet me so, 
Without one mention of the long ago, 
Without one change of color or of tone, 
As though a stranger si:)oke to her alone. 

" And yet 'tis she ! Her smile is still the same, — 
Her glorious smile, — and, better still, her name. 
How like an empress born upon the throne 
She sways the crowd that see but her alone ! 

'• She shall be mine once more : she loved me 

then ; 
Methinks old love Avill win new love again. 
Perchance she loves me yet : a woman's heart 
Loves rarely twice ; her love of life is part." 

And so he stood beside her as of yore, 
Talk'd low, look'd love, as oftentimes before. 
She smiled for answer with a mien as cold 
As though for her there were no days of old. 

At length he spoke of that sad parting scene, 
Recall'd the happy times that once had been. 
His heart quick-beating with the hope to trace 
Some sign of lingering love upon her face. 

At last he ask'd her, " Dost remember, too, 
Thy promised vow to be forever true ? 
I've sought in vain thine image to forget : 
May hope still dream thou dost remember yet?" 



AGNES. 75 

She stood a moment like Nemesis crown'd 
With all the glory of a vengeance found ; 
Then turn'd with laugh as silvery as song, 
And with the shaft of scorn repaid her wrong : — 

" True unto thee ! I do remember now 
What I had long forgot ! Some foolish vow, 
Made — was't to thee? — when head and heart were 

soft! 
But vows, through life, are made and broken oft ! 

" I do recall a scene where love-sick youth 
Swore to romantic girl eternal truth. 
But had forgotten both the vow and swain : — 
I've been betroth'd some dozen times since then ! 

" Didst think to find me scourged by memory's rod, 
With all my life like Rome's old two-faced god, 
Looking one way towards a bitter past. 
While towards the other all my hopes were cast? 

" Thou hast not learn'd, in all these years since fled, 

Love is a hungry thing, and must be fed 

With constant pleadings, hopes, prayers, dreams, 

and sighs, 
Or else he fades away, and, starving, dies ? 

'"Tis strange that I, who practised my first spell 
Of power and conquest upon thee so well. 
Would still have this to teach, that absence e'er 
Destroys and buries sentiment's desjjair ! 



76 AGNES. 

" And now farewell ! we shall not meet again : 
To-morrow sees me dashing o'er the main. 
Ponder my lesson ! To thy love twice told 
Perchance I yet may listen — when I'm old." 

And thus again they parted, — he, to feel 
A real, desi3airing love her vengeance seal ; 
To mourn his folly, and to curse his fate, 
That, loving well at last, he loved too late. 

And she — and she — the golden moon that night 
Look'd down from heaven on a piteous sight : 
A woman kneeling with dishevelFd hair. 
And pallid lips that murmur'd misery's prayer. 

She had with words her nobleness belied, 

And borne her bravely 'neath her mask of pride ; 

But now, alone with sorrow and the past. 

Her heart's deep wounds could bleed in tears at last 

" God !" she cried, " have mercy ! let me die ! 
Or quench these memories of the times gone by ! 
Let me not curse him for my hopeless life. 
My ruin'd peace, my hours of midnight strife ! 

" And give me patience, my God, to bear 
This veil of calmness which my days must wear ! 
That he may never know the secret pain 
That binds my soul wdth its resistless chain. 



GRAVES BY THE WAY. 77 

"And yet — and yet, God, for my wreck'd youth, 
My broken dreams, my constant, hidden truth, 
Still keep my memory green within his heart, 
To haunt his path of life, whence I depart!" 

The morrow saw her speeding o'er the main ; 
Ne'er press'd her foot her native soil again ; 
Another land and other friends became 
The willing donors of extended fame. 

Yet Kumor brought him tidings of her fate. 
Of homage render'd her by proud and great. 
And how she moved among the courtly throng, 
As one whose thoughts to higher things belong. 

Yet knew he not that, ere at last she died. 
Love conquer'd all those weary years of pride. 
And that his name grew cold upon the breath 
Whose blessing ended in the realms of death ! 



GRAVES BY THE WAY. 



Slow and alone up Life's oft travell'd road, 
Bearing a cross, a weary woman trode, 

And reach'd the turning-place. 
Then paused beneath her burden's heavy weight, 
ind, like one lingering near a closing gate, 

Look'd back with earnest face; 



To GRAVES BY THE WAY. 

Gazed yearning back with sadden'd eyes, that bore 
The shadows of spent clouds, whose storms of yore 

Had swept her travell'd way, — 
Saw heaping there rich wrecl'i.s of lovely things, 
Dead forms of wasted hours with folded wings, 

And lilies soil'd with clay. 

As o'er the cross that lean'd upon her breast 

She eager bent, her crown's sharp thorns outpress'd 

Blood-drops from each deep wound. 
That chased her rapid tears' unheeded flow, 
As o'er and o'er she counted, oft and slow. 

Lone 

First far adown, where fell Life's morning light, 
Kose, blossom-deck'd, upon her misty sight 

A little mound of mould ; 
A new bud sever'd from its parent stem, 
A jewel droi^p'd from home's bright diadem, 

And all the tale was told. 

A gentle darling from the household gone, 
A sweet-voiced warbler with the angels flown, 

To form within the skies 
The first dear link in Death's heart-coiling chain, 
That bound her memory with its cankering pain 

To shores where nothing dies. 

And, farther on, another resting-place. 
Where damask-roses witlier'd in their grace 
Within the yew's dark shade. 



GRAVES BY THE WAY. 79 

Wliose solemn branches bow'd their mournful stato 
Beneath the tender ivy's clinging weight, 
O'er asphodel-strewn glade. 

A doe, dart-stricken by a gushing spring, 

A pure white cygnet with death-drooping wing, 

The sculptured marble bore ; 
For here, way-weary, quatf d of Lethe's stream 
Her girlhood's early friend, and dream'd a dream 

From which she woke no more. 

Between the rocks and sea, then, lone, apart, 

A plane-tree show'd where slept a bleeding heart, 

That Genius had crown'd 
With emblem-wreath of lotus, intertwined 
With bright-leaved amaranth, whose flowers wind 

The dark, sad cypress round. 

Low bent adown the pilgrim gazer's head ; 
For o'er the turf that hid the gifted dead, 

O'ergrown with eglantine, 
The carved device on fallen column shone 
Of torch, whereon crush'd purple clusters thrown 

Quench'd light with ruby wine. 

Then changed the road from straight and level way 
To crook'd paths, whose dark and miry clay 

Still soil'd her robe with stains ; 
^Ko mossy turf the sharp rocks now outspread, 
The dusky clouds hung lowering overhead, 

And shadow'd brightest plains. 



80 GRAVES BY THE WAY. 

Like lieated iron burning on her heart 
She felt her crucifix, for just apart, 

Through broken hawthorn hedge, 
She saw two sepulchres together laid, 
Whereon pale yellow leaves a pall had made, 

The coming winter's pledge ; 

Twin tombs, whereon were symboll'd in the stone 
Each emblem-token of the Something gone 

From earth and buried there. 
Dead amaryllis strew 'd the grave of Pride ; 
A shatter'd anchor show'd where Hope had died 

In battle with Despair. 

She wept o'er all these scenes with woman-woe, 
Silent and patient, whose tears' swift flow 

Awoke no noisy groan ; 
But suddenly a shriek ran through the air, 
As if her life's whole agony and care 

Found voice in that one tone. 

The cross, scarce noted mid her memory's pain, 
Slipp'd slowly down, from where it long had lain, 

Upon her weight-worn breast, 
Striking, arm-stay'd, upon a wound scarce heal'd, 
Just o'er the heart, from whence the blow unseal'd 

Red streams that dyed her vest. 

The while her fainting sight could dimly see 
A phantom rise from 'neath an aloe-tree, 
With drooping myrtle crown'd ; 



GRAVES BY THE WAY. 81 

Whose spectral hands white poppies held enclosed, 
Signs of the sleep wherein the heart reposed 
Ere startled by that sound. 

*• Dear Love, dost live again ?" she feebly said ; 
" I buried thee ! methought that thou wert dead, 

And conquer'd evermore ! 
Why comes this ghost to mock my bitter fate ? 
I deem'd, that day my soul grew desolate, 

That all thy power was o'er." 

"Thy love is dead," replied the fleeting shade; 
" 'Twas like yon aloe where its couch is made, 

That blooms but once, then dies ! 
'Tis but thy fancy gives me passing life, 
And haunting memory, with fond visions rife, 

Thus mocks thy yearning sight !" 

The shades had lengthen'd when once more she 

stood. 
With hidden wound, in brave yet solemn mood. 

Ready to journey on ; 
But ere again she pass'd upon her way, 
That still untraced through unknown darkness lay, 

She knelt beside the stone 

That mark'd a new-made grave, that morn not 

there, — 
And thus breathed forth her soul's most earnest 

prayer : 
" God of the quick and dead, 



82 GRAVES BY THE WAY. 

With mercy guide me through my coming life, 
As once, of old, through deserts and through strife 
Thy people safe were led ! 

" As in the wilderness graves strew'd their way, 
See, too, on my past road, where heaps of clay 

Bury my dead from sight ; 
And grant, Lord, to shine amid my lot, 
Alone, heart-wounded, and by loA^e forgot, 

This ray of pillar'd light ; 

" That ne'er again Death's ghastly shape may sweep 
Across vcij path, no more these poor eyes weep 

O'er cherish'd graves to be. 
Let me die first, ere those I love shall go. 
To leave me madden'd by life's yearning woe ! 

God, not them, but me ! 

*' Here lies my perish'd youth that died to-day, 
Earth's brightest thing forever fled away, 

Ne'er to return again. 
I mourn for it, last, saddest loss of all. 
Believing through my years no more can fall 

Such heavy, bitter rain. 

" And yet — and yet, my God, I still implore 
This one atonement for the griefs of yore. 

To lighten this my cross : 
Spare my beloved ones till myself be dead ; 
Strike me, Lord, but let me never shed 

More tears for mortal loss !" 



ORIGIN OF OEMS. 83 

Then o'er her rood white rose-wreaths she en- 
twined, 
Emblems of silence, that henceforth should bind 

The woes her soul might bear, 
Then, rising, gazed once more adown the Past, 
And towards The Future's night one long look cast, 

Then bravely enter'd there. 



ORIGIN OF GEMS. 

THE OPAL. 



O.vcE, ere man was, the gates of God's high heaven 

Were closed ; and round the throne a rumor rose 

That the lost Lucifer and all his host, 

Grown madden'd in their mighty home of fire 

By distant echoes of the bliss once theirs. 

Would strive again to win their former seats I 

And so on either side the portals barr'd 

Gabriel and Michael lean'd upon their swords. 

With pinions trailing on the court of gold ; 

While stretching up the shore of Life's great stream 

There thronged a myriad of shining wings. 

The army of the Highest come to wage 

Celestial war 'gainst evil and despair ! 

And, like the suns that fill the universe, 

Each one was silent, and with glory ray'd. 

And but the leaders changed a single smile. 

Part pity, partly sorrow, and part scorn, 



84 ORIGIN OF GEMS. 

When up the blue their fallen brethren soar'd, 

Still angel-like, yet scarr'd all o'er with sin, 

With white wings soird and shadow'd brows un- 

crown'd. 
And each one bearing from the burning lake 
A portion of its quenchless, blazing flame ; 
Which casting down before the stainless gate, 
They stood apart, and waited till its might 
Should burst each crystal hinge and entrance show. 
But when upon the empyrean soil 
At last the glowing fragments crashing fell. 
The sons of God came swarming to the breach. 
With blades of Truth, bless'd by the Eternal One, 
And drove them, shrieking, to their lowest hell, 
And left them bound to torments evermore, 
By chains of memory and hopeless grief. 
And as the conquering spirits winged their flight, 
With glad hosannas of triumphant praise, 
Back to the radiance of Jehovah's face. 
The arch-seraph Gabriel paused to raise 
The scatter'd remnants of the shattered pearl, 
That still was flashing with unhallow'd light. 
And cast them down upon the new-form'd earth ; 
Where evermore its lovely pureness keeps 
Th' imprison' d splendor of that mystic fire. 
And man, half angel and half demon, wears 
The Opal, as an emblem of his soul. 
1S59. 



ORIGIN OF GEMS. 85 



DIAMONDS. 

They stood just out of their lost Paradise, 

Adiim and the Mother of All Living, 

Still backward gazing, and yet seeing naught 

For flashing of the flaming swords that hid 

The gates of Eden closed 'gainst man and time. 

The world was wide, — there was their bridal home ! 

Earth's plants were many, — Eve's dear flowers were 

there ! 
There had they seen the light, and talk'd with God, 
And there, a sovereign o'er created things, 
Had fearless watch'd the beasts which he had named. 
The tameless lion and the untamed stag, 
Come meekly crouching unto Adam's call. 
Now these had grown a terror or a grief, 
The earth was cursed, and the death-angel born ! 
And, half afraid to face their future fate, 
The}^ linger'd yet around the cherish'd spot, 
Each clinging to the other with such love, 
Yet weeping w'ith such passionate, sad woe. 
That the bright angels guarding its lone paths 
Bow'd down their radiant and light-crown'd heads, 
And shed great tears of pity for their lot, 
That, falling, roll'd adown the glowing swords, 
And caught their brightness ere they sparkling fell ; 
Which Satan, wearing now his seraph-shape, 
Did gather ere they touch'd th' illumined soil, — 
Albeit that the precious drops became 
Hard, shining stones within his fatal grasp, — 



86 ORIGIN OF GEMS. 

And offer'd them to Eve with mocking laugh, 

Telling her she might buy a world of slaves 

With those fair things, or reign, like queen-like 

night 
Bedeck'd with stars, o'er every mortal hope, 
If she would bind them on her perfect brow. 
She listen'd not, nor knew the angels wept. 
But, casting one long look from Adam's breast 
Towards her bower of past bliss, bless'd God 
That Love was left them still ; then hand in hand 
They turn'd away from Eden evermore. 
And then the Tempter cast the glittering gems 
Into the rivers that from thenceforth flow, 
And bade them bear his malison to men ; 
And, as one woman heeded not their power, 
All women else should yield them to their sway, 
And Diamonds tempt the loveliest Eves on earth 
To fancied Edens and to flaming swords. 

RUBIES. 

Abel was dead, and all the shuddering earth 
Grrew still before the awful voice of wrath, 
That thrill'd the angels at the stern demand, 
*' Where is thy brother, Cain ?" and Cain uprose 
From gazing on the dead man's pallid face 
With the great terror of a first remorse, 
And trembled when he saw the solid ground 
Oped not to hide his deed and him from God : 
Then heard with sullen fear liis future doom, 



ORIGIN OF GEMS. 87 

And dared to plead for life with that great Judge : 
*' All men will seek to slay me as I flee, 
Outcast of heaven, and cursed amid my race. 
Life will be terrible, but still 'tis life. 
Life, life ! ah ! only life, with every ill V' 
And from the forehead dark the red hand dash'd 
The gathering drops of anguish and despair, 
Leaving instead the crimson stains of guilt, 
That grew and deepen'd as the answer came : — 
"Go, murderer, forth: Omnipotence alone 
Shall call thee when thy time to die is come, 
And human power shall ne'er control thine end : 
Therefore, henceforward bear this sacred stamp, 
A mark to shield thee from the shafts of hate." 
And, lo ! upon his brow the gory stains 
Were bright and hard, and shone a crown of gems, 
And th' undried blood his hand had lately spill'd 
Sparkled, a mass of rubies, in the-sun. 
And thus he lived apart from common fates, 
Wearing defiantly his sign of shame, 
Till mould conceal'd the symbol of his crime, 
Wherein men seek for this unhallow'd gem, 
Nor know, in groping for its costly light, 
Whether or not they stir the dust of Cain. 



EMERALDS. 

When Eve came out of Eden, she still wore 
Upon her grief-bow'd head a shining wreath, 
Which Adam's hands had woven from the leaves 



88 MY PEARL. 

Of that fair tree whose fruit soon wrought their 

doom. 
But when the curse of God thrill'd earth's deep 

heart, 
The breath of His most solemn, mighty voice 
Pass'd o'er that love-made crown, whose trembling 

green 
Grew petrified with awe to sparkling stone. 
^Twas all of Eden that she bore away ; 
And yet, whene'er she bent her drooping brow 
To Adam's breast, to slumber or to weep, 
It hurt her like the memory of her sin, 
And scarr'd her forehead's fairness with red frowns. 
Till Adam seized it as a thing accursed. 
And dash'd it into fragments mid the rocks. 
The ancient Magi, skill'd in secret lore. 
Knew w^ell the value of its wondrous birth, 
And bound the Emerald upon their hearts. 
Engraven o'er with wisdom's mystic signs : 
The talisman of knowledge gave them power. 



MY PEARL. 

Come talk with my lonely, sad soul to-night. 

My Pearl from India's sea, 
As white as the ocean's snowiest spray, 

As round as its bright drops be. 



MY PEARL. ^9 

Come tell me of wonderful things that live 

In tlie wave's unmeasured blue, 
Of all that is heaving and heaping there, 

Far adown from mortal view. 

Didst look from thy home in the tinted shell, 
And watch the great monsters glide 

With their monster-mates, stirring all the calm 
Of the deeps beneath the tide ? 

Didst hear the mermaidens wooingly sing 

To mermen from other waves ? 
Didst listen to love-stories even there, 

In the hidden coral caves ? 

Hast thou seen the ruins of gallant ships 

With gallant crews coming down, 
While shrieks for life rang wild through the storm 

Death's quiet alone could drown ? 

Hast thou seen the dead, in their mighty grave, 

Astir mid the surging main. 
As if the warm pulse of their living time 

Was filling their veins again, — 

While fishes swam over each pallid face, 

And sea-weed tangled their hair, 
And the cold, blank eyes look'd evermore up 

With stony and sightless stare ? 



90 MY PEARL. 

But what canst thou know, pure child of the wave, 

Of the breaking human hearts 
That, still waiting, die in their distant homes 

When the light of hope departs ? 

But most of all to mj'- yearnings unfold 

The unfathom'd mystery. 
Ah, hast thou not leai-n'd it these many years ? — 

The great secret of the sea. 

Has the ceaseless voice of the waters ne'er 

Outspoken the marvellous pain 
That upward wails from the innermost heart 

Of the ever-restless main ? 

No ; thou art silent, my beautiful Pearl, 

Silent and white as the foam. 
And canst utter no word of aught that dwells 

In thy old, forgotten home. 

Not the diver that brought thee out of the deep, 

Nor thou, nor I, can e'er tell 
The unlanguaged secret that strange, dark sea 

For ases has fjruarded well. 



A SOUND FROM THE BASTILLE. 01 



A SOUND FROM THE BASTILLE. 

'' If, for my consolation, Monseigneur would grant me, 
for the sake of God and the Most Blessed Trinity, that I could 
have news of my dear wife, were it only her name on a 
card, to show that she is alive, it were the greatest consola- 
tion I could receive, and I would forever bless the greatness 
of Monseigneur." — Letter signed Louis Deraery, dated "A la 
Bastille, 7me Oct., 1752." — (" J/emo/rs of the Bastille:^) 

Hear it ! the voice of that poor prisoner's love 

Breaking all barriers of lone despair, 
Of deep obscurity, rebellious pride, 

In yearning utterance of this touching prayer. 
A human heart made meek by human pain. 

Suing to tyrant power, — but not for life. — 
For more — for more, for one faint ray of hope, 

To calm suspense and end doubt's maddening 
strife. 

There, in the silent darkness of his cell, 

Shut in from sunshine and the fair blue sky. 
Day after day would memory's skill repaint. 

In richer dyes, life's precious tilings gone by ; 
The while those gray stone walls, cold, damp, and 
still, 

Mock'd every dream of passion and the past, 
Till rage and grief and solitude of soul 

To burning tears forced manhood's strength at last. 



92 A SOUND FROM THE BASTILLE. 

Day after day he walk'd with her he loved, 

Touch'd her dear hand, look'd in her tender eyes, 
Breathed her sweet name in dreams, and link'd it oft 

With soft, endearing words, and answ^er'd sighs, 
Until his heart seem'd but to beat with hers 

Who gave to him each thought of her pure life. 
And love o'erflow'd his spirit with a sense 

Of true religion, as he calFd her "wife." 

And then to wake — to wake from blissful hours 

Of world-forgetting rapture, from a faith 
In beauty, happiness, a home and heaven, 

To this dark dungeon and a living death ! 
To feel no more no more, that darling head 

Nestling to his broad breast, and each white arm 
Clinging to his proud strength, as there alone 

Her woman's weakness shrank from no alarm ! 

To rave 'gainst God and man, — to pray, to weep. 

To fancy jealous fears with fever'd brain, 
To groan imploring cries for her dear life. 

Till dread of death became his keenest pain ! 
He could not die while she was yet alive ; 

Yet, living, surely her great love could pierce 
Through bolt and bar, o'er guard and moat and 
wall. 

And by some token end this conflict fierce. 



These rulers of the land who kept him there, 
Accursed as they were, they still were men, — 



WORSHIP. 93 

Hiici hearts, souls, passions, feelings like his own, — 
Loved lovely women, and were loved again. 

Perchance his voice, full of its yearning woe, 
Would strike a chord of pity in their breasts, 

And, answering with one word, more joy Avould thrill 
His being than could sway their grandest guests. 

And then he waited long, — till life and hope 

Died out together, — and to coming time 
Left but this faded letter and a name, 

A broken heart's appeal to sceptred crime. 
Those storied stones were witnesses of blood : 

A nation w^ept when impotent to save ; 
And earth responds to that poor captive's fate. 

That love is free in realms beyond the grave. 



WORSHIP. 

My God ! my God ! how thrills my mortal frame 
In tearful ecstasy of praise or prayer, 

When, humbly lingering on the One Great Name, 
My soul, aspiring, finds its limit there. 

And ofttimes, kneeling, in mine utmost need, 
With speechless awe my trembling spirit shrink.-^ 

While bitterest cry of human pain or want 
In adoration's reverent silence sinks. 



94 EL DORADO. 

Yet, knowing Thee, the One forever true, 
While earthly loves and earthly hopings end, 

My heart in sorrow still sublimely yearns 
Through all the universe to find its Friend. 

And, childlike reaching to a Father's hand. 

Unspoken thoughts creep upward to His throne 

And though I stood companionless mid men, 
My God, Thou knowest I am ne'er alone. 



EL DORADO. 

'TwAS autumn noon : beneath a lofty oak 
I idly dream'd upon the hill-side green ; 

And all around morn's golden veil of light 
Had shed a glory o'er the harvest-scene. 

Below there spread a field of ripen'd corn, 

Half reap'd, half waving in the passing breeze, 

Waiting a couch within the empty wain 

That stood with drowsy team 'neath neighboring 
trees. 

The farmers, weary of their mid-day toil, 

Had homeward turn'd their eager steps, to find 

Some welcome rest ai'ound the groaning board. 
Leaving their graceful sheaves, and me, behind 



EL DORADO. 95 

And fixrther off, like sparkling, jewell'd belt, 
The river shone, where stately ships went by, 

Whose snowy sails, through clefts of verdure seen, 
By fleecy clouds seem'd mirror'd in the sky. 

The balmy air just stirr'd the yellow grain. 
And, save the cattle's low, no sound arose, 

But now and then an insect's droning chirp, 
To stir the silence of the day's repose. 

And, floating downward through my leafy screen, 
A single ray like Jacob's ladder seem'd, 

That upward reach'd to heavens of far-off years. 
Where phantoms of the past, like angels, gleam'd ; 

Hours that come no more, and hopes long gone. 
The memories of lost loves, and friendships dead, 

Pale ghosts of passionate meetings and farewells, 
The shadows of old dreams, and tales oft read. 

But most these last ; for from my listless hand 
Had dropp'd the book my thouglits long linger'd 
o'er, 

A stirring chronicle of times gone by, 

What men believed and did in days of yore. 

Strange stories of the sea, and legends wild 
As this one by the ancient Arabs told, 

Of Satan's hand outstretching from the wave 
To grasp the ship whose venture was too bold ; 



96 EL DOllADO. 

And those long-clierish'd fables of the West, 
The G-olden City, and the Fount of Youth ; 

And all the list of brave, heroic men 

AVho died in searching for their trusted truth ; 

Till mine own fancy, set aflame by dreams 

Of wonders hidden 'neath the Southern Cross, 

In secret forests of that gorgeous land 

Stay'd not of life and hope to count the loss ; 

Saw only two brave Walters proudly sail 

From shores whose giant-queen bade each "God- 
speed," 
And " wore them in her heart," while, outward 
bound. 
Their fearless minds to danger gave no heed ; 

Forgetting all the while a foreign grave, 

Where Raleigh's son slept 'neath a tropic sky, — 

Whose sire's last words were on a scaffold spoke, — 
" So hearts be right, what matter how heads lie V 

For all my thoughts were busy with the tale 

Of that old Spanish sailor who alone 
Had walk'd through El Dorado's gilded streets. 

And seen the Inca on his ivory throne. 

Till in my vision I arose, and pass'd 

Through opening ranks of plumed and bowing 
grain, 



EL DORADO. 97 

That like an army of raised dead closed up. 
With warning whisper that the quest was vain. 

And at the river's edge I found a shiji, 
That swiftly bore me over distant seas, 

Until the water freshen 'd 'neatli the keel, 
The sails were wafted by a scented breeze ; 

And up a widening stream, upon whose shore 
Panthers and serpents, birds and lilies, drank, 

As once in Eden by Euphrates' wave, 

Untamed, untrain'd, they shared the same green 
bank ; 

Until at last we anchor'd in a lake. 

Bearing an emerald island on its breast, 

Whereon a marble structure stately rose. 
Whose open gate seem'd waiting for a guest. 

In front a fount of liquid gold sprang up, 
In jewell'd basin sparkling still to fall. 

And just beyond its porphyry columns rose. 
Strewn o'er with precious dust, the palace-hall. 

Within, four gorgeous lamps burn'd day and night 
Before an altar, whereon dazzling shone 

A burnish'd, golden sun, whose glowing rays 
Circled the Emperor on his ivory throne. 

In silver robes, the people of the land 

Bow'd ever down before their hidden king, 

7 



98 EL DORADO. 

And each received a priceless crown whose hand 
The tribute of a crystal heart could bring. 

A stranger, 'wilder'd by the flashing light, 
I turn'd aside where other galleries led. 

Where pictures hung whose colors were of gems, 
And topaz stars lit sapphire domes o'erhead. 

Through piles of ingots and an India's wealth, 
Out in the sunshine roved my tireless feet, 

Met marvels at each step, until at last 

I reach'd the entrance of the goldsmiths' street. 

I cannot tell the lustre and the wealth 
That dazzled all my senses in one maze, 

Till sudden blindness struck my wondering sight, 
In the swift flashing of a diamond's blaze. 

And, stung with pain, I strain'd my smarting eyes, 
Still darken'd by the brightness of the stone, 

Till from the fabled glories of a dream 
Came recognition of a scene well known. 

The waving corn, the river winding past. 

The shining scythes, the empty, waiting wain, 

And the great tree through whose thick-cluster'd 
leaves . 
A noonday beam, straight darting, made my pain. 

While pondering o'er the meaning of my dream, 
I raised the book, and on the open page 



EL DORADO. 99 

The rare, quaint author had his moral writ, 

Answering my thoughts in warning to his age : — 

" Lost, lost, forever lost the old belief 

In golden quests that lured men o'er the seas. 

Yet, readers dear, still keep an earnest faith 
In distant mysteries more rich than these. 

" For still the eternal fount of life and youth 

Flows pure and fresh from out the great white 
throne, 
And still the gilded city waits for guests. 

Whose streets are gold, whose walls are precious 
stone. 

" And but one mortal — Christ's beloved John — 
Has seen this El Dorado's priceless state, 

Wherein no sunlight but God's glory shines. 
And ever open stands each pearly gate. 

" weary wanderer through a desert world, 
See that the heart be crystal clear from sin 

Thou layest before thy Sovereign's dazzling throne. 
That, crown'd with light, thy soul may dwell 
therein !" 



100 THE DIFFERENCE. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

Lv the parting glow of the summer sun, 
I kiss'd her red lips ere the day was done, 

Clasping her close to my heart, — 
Close to the heart that had loved her so well, 

Close to the heart that had loved her so long, 
With such timid love it could only tell 

Its hope in another's song, — 
Speaking a verse that floated through 

My memory as we watch'd the day 

'Twixt crimson portals fade away 
Into the dark of dusky blue ! 
Her trembling hand fell away from my arm ; 
The blood flush'd her cheek like the wine that fills 

A transparent chalice of tinted pearl. 
Madden'd by passion's unthinking alarm, 
With my throbbing heart pulsing only thrills. 

Fevering hopes and fears, in a sudden whirl 
Of boldness and pain, 
I seized her hand and look'd down in her eyes, 
Dear eyes, that said more than only surprise, 
Then hid their tears on my heaving breast. 

Ah ! never again 
Can life know moments so fleeting and blest! 

In the parting glow of the winter sun, 

I kiss'd her white lips ere the day was done, 



THE TALK. 101 

Clasping her close to my heart, — 
Close to the heart that was breaking with pain, 

Close to the heart that grew gray with its woe, 
Thinking that never! ah, never again 

On earth I could hold her so, — 
Thinking how soon the brown, damp mould 

Would pillow the beautiful head, 

And I alone, with my precious dead 
Lying out in the bitter cold. 
I murmur'd her name in passionate tones ; 
But the i)ure, closed lids hid her eyes' soft light, 

And no blushes mantled the marble cheek. 
The chamber of death echoed only groans, 
That rang through the silent shadows of night. 

Till dawn found me tearless, quiet, and weak 
As a conquer'd child. 
Then I kiss'd once more her pallid, still brow, 
Ere they laid her beneath the falling snow. 
And took up my burden of life again ; , . 

But mournful and wild 
Ever sounds in my soul sad memory's strain ! 



THE TALK. 



Atitalie. — Oh, I am weary of this changeless round 
Of dull monotony which men call life ! 
Existence should be more than merely breath, 
And sleep, and caring for the outward sense. 



102 THE TALK. 

The mind, the kernel of this mortal shell, 

Was ne'er intended thus to wither up. 

And, rotting, perish in its darken'd home ; 

Albeit 'tis true the nut must first be crush'd 

Before the richness of the fruit is reach'd. 

And often thus 'tis only suffering shows 

The hidden ripeness of created souls. 

But I would rather bear earth's fiercest pain 

And walk amid the furnace of its wrath, 

All scathed with wounds and sear'd with aching 

scars, 
Treading with burning feet its fiery rage. 
Than drag my being calmly, tamely out, 
As I iiave seen at shows some conquer'd pard 
Viewing with patience his confining cage. 
As though he cared not for his fetter'd state, 
Nor raged that each new hour would pass the same 
The while the world was wide for his wild steps. 
I hate such inert ease, — just feeling now 
As if the pulses of my heart stood still, 
Waiting for some great shock to send the blood 
In leaping buoyancy through each glad vein. 

EuLALiE. — And yet, my friend, whene'er the heart's 

red stream 
Too long and swiftly bounds in such fierce course, 
The uncheck'd throbbing of its fever'd beats 
Destroys the very life 'twas form'd to give. 

Athalie. — I care not: death's still peace is better far 



THE TALK. 103 

Than these mad aspirations of my soul, 
This restless impotence of striving thought, 
Impatient doubts, and unreach'd speechless hopes. 
Thy calmer nature cannot comprehend 
How all the daring of Crusading sires 
Fires mj'^ lonely dreams with bitter scorn 
Of woman's weakness, woman's dull content. 
Oh ! there are times when I could buckle on 
Ancestral armor 'gainst a throng of foes. 
And almost deem the world's arena small ! 

EuLALiE. — Such field of action as your spirit seeks 

Should never be a woman's battle-ground : 

Her scene of warfare must be in her Home ; 

Her foes, the daily trials that harass 

And fight against each struggling Christian's soul; 

Her spotless shield, her purity and truth ; 

Her weapons, love and humble, holy faith ; 

Her armor, innocence ; her leader, God ; 

Her fortress, prayer ; her banner's sole device. 

An open Bible with its Avell-worn leaves ; 

Her greatest conquests, her own passions tamed ; 

The highest captives by her triumphs won. 

Her children's hearts, and husband's fond esteem ; 

Her proudest trophy, her own happy hearth ; 

And men will rise before her honor'd head, 

" And call her bless'd," who strives and conquers 

thus. 
Ah ! I would rather be the placid star 
That lights a good man's dwelling with its rays, 



104 THE TALK. 

Than shine the brightest sun that ever shed 
Its brilliant beams upon a dazzled world. 

Atiialie. — And such should be your destiny, dear 

friend. 
Earth's sweetest flowers ever seek the shade ; 
The fragrant violet hides its lowly head 
Within the waving grass, just peeping up 
To catch, 'twixt dewy blades, a glinij^se of heaven I 
But the glorious Rose, the garden queen. 
Sits proudly on its throne of green, and wears 
Its sparkling coronet of cloud-born gems. 
Only the King of Night and Song dare woo 
The Sovereign of the Flowers ; and minstrel strains 
Have ever told how vain his plaintive notes 
Whose sweetness wins the adoration mute 
Of every blossom save the one he sues. 

EuLALiE. — And so the rose drops lonely from her 

stalk, 
Because she sighs for Zephyr: 'tis for him 
To win the passing fancy of a god, 
She scorns the bliss of kindred sympathy, 
And turns aside from true and earnest love. 
A woman's ideal's not a woman's fate ! 

Atiialie. — Hush! you are all too cold for dreams, 

while life 
For me is woven through with fancy's threads. 
Ah ! years ago the angels came from heaven 



THE TALK. 105 

And lost their Paradise for woman's smile; 

But now they come no more. Is it because 

There is no being pure and high enough 

Now in this world to win a spirit's love? 

The sons of men are all too gross and low 

To seek a soul ! they but the casket woo. 

Eye worships eye, and sense adores the flesh ! 

The jewel is not sought: perchance, if found, 

The value is unknown, and it drops back 

Into the olden darkness whence it shone. 

And hides once more its brightness in the dust! 

Spirit alone should e'er a spirit win ; 

And those high natures that could fearless share 

A god's or angel's love were worthy, sure, 

To claim the homage that immortals yield. 

Do angels fold their wings no more on earth ? 

And, Eulalie, all lovely as thou art, 

Methinks that thou shouldst gain a spirit's love. 

E'en though he left an Eden for the prize ! 

Eulalie, — Oh ! 'tis such dreams as these, dear Athalie, 
That make thy heart like to the great, sad sea, 
Forever moaning with a wild unrest 
For Dian's unattainable, far shore. 
Hast seen it upward heave its quivering waves, 
Like hoping lover stretching out his arms. 
To catch his mistress to his panting breast ? 
Who sees them feebly fall with mocking gaze, 
Knowing the witchery of her next bright smile 
Will raise and swell the ebbing tide of hope ! 



106 THE TALK. 

Thus ever j- earning for an unreach'd goal, 

Thy restless soul-depths murmur with despair 

Or sing with joy. True Happiness stands oft 

Beside our very threshold, yet we spring 

With eager footstep to pursue some shape, 

Some visionary phantom that holds forth 

The tempting semblance of alluring fruit, 

Which when we strive to reach, we find but shades, 

That ever fly, yet still excite desire, 

While the real good we might have won at first 

Has vanish'd in the turnings of our race. 

Athalie. — Our happiness lies only in ourselves, 

And how and where our inner selves expand. 

And in the ocean's fathomless abyss 

Are cavern'd mysteries and wonderous rare things ; 

Bright heaps of priceless gems there hoarded up 

Are gather'd by the foam of outer waves. 

The sea is but the earth's great, throbbing heart, 

Still rich in jewels, though the moon is far, 

And pearls and rubies sleep within its depths, 

Like lovely dreams in unroused human minds. 

Yet as the vast Leviathan disturbs 

The water's deep repose, so comes the hour 

Of inspiration to the thinking brain, 

Which, laboring with the burden that it bears. 

Pants with a feverish pain til] tuneful words, 

Like breezes music-laden from the land, 

Bring quick relief by lulling to repose 

The writhings of the sudden waken'd power. 



THE TxiLK. 107 

And from its secret caves each storm's strong hand 
Casts out its jewels on the world's wide shore, 
To sparkle there. 

EuLALiE. — Or else, perchance, to lie. 

Trampled by careless feet, in graves of sand. 

Thou readest thus a lesson from the sea, 

Yet thou, with all thy yearnings and wild dreams, 

Art voiceless to thy race, and cast no gems 

Up fro.m the treasury of thy real soul. 

The truest song springs from the deepest thought ; 

And M'ouldst thou shake the sloth of visions off, 

And chain their beauty unto kindred words, 

The echoing Earth would bear thee in its arms, 

A crown'd Corinna, mid its proudest fanes. 

This is thy want, my friend, — the will to work. 

Instead of waiting for a chance reward. 

Ambition, Genius, like hidden fires, 

Consume thine hours, whose upward-mounting flame 

Is quench'd in idle tears of timid pride ! 

Athalie. — 'Tis true ! 'tis true ! How, Eulalie, didst 

thou 
So read the passions of my lonely moods ? 
I will be up and doing, as thou sayest, 
jN^or longer in mere dreams thus waste my yoiith. 
My precious gift of song, the breath divine 
With which God waked my soul to higher life, 
Henceforth I hold thee as a heavenly trust, 
A stainless flower, to be guarded pure 



108 THE TALK. 

From taint of worldly touch, the while it throws 
Its wealth of odor upon every breeze. 
Farewell ! farewell ! I thank thee that thy words 
Have set the goal for which my spirit longs. 
And now, whate'er may be my coming fate, 
This thought of me shall still be thine, my friend: 
Thou'st starr'd my solitude with one great hope ! 
Farewell ! farewell ! 

EuLALiE. — Oh, Athalie ! 

She's gone ! she's gone ! I had not meant to rouse 

Such energy of daring in her soul ! 

And yet, perchance, 'tis well : the might is there. 

And needed but a spur to show its strength. 

'Tis strange that thus a summer evening's talk 

Should grow from idle fancies to such end, 

That one should read the purpose of her life 

And forward spring to grasp a waiting crown. 

While I — well, I will wait in patience here. 

Till fate shall seek me in my quiet home. 

Wherein, some day, perchance yon noble soul, 

World-wearied by the very fame it seeks. 

Will find a refuge from the praise of men. 

And, coming back to youth's first friendly trust, 

Say, " Eulalie, since long ago we talk'd 

One eve together on this velvet knoll, 

My life has learn'd this lesson from my thoughts : 

That howsoe'er on earth we frame our hopes, 

Whatever paths we tread, at last we know 

No destinv is finish'd in this world !" 



THE TOMB IX AVENTICL'M. 109 



THE TOMB IN AVENTICUM. 

When the night was dark and dreary, and I sat alone 

to read 
Of many a martial history, many a gallant deed. 

Then, amid the noise of battles, the strife of war- 
riors bold, 

Came the echoes of a story from the perish'd days 
of old. 

As the notes of gentler music stealing mid a warlike 

strain, 
All my feverish dreams of glory it restored to peace 

again. 

In an ancient, ruin'd city, where the ivy clothes the 

wall, 
Where the broken columns moulder, and the dust 

is like a pall ; 

Where the tottering arches tremble in the breeze 

that passes by, 
And where palaces and temples in dark, scatter'd 

masses lie ; 

Where, in roads where conquerors triumphed, only 

stones and silence sway, 
And where all that marks the Present is a shrine 

where pilgrims pray ; 



110 THE TOMB IN AVENTTCUM. 

Here they found who seek in ruins an inscription 

unefFaced, 
Touching record of dead ages, by forgotten workmen 

traced ; 

Tomb of Julia Alpinula, with her epitaph and fate, 
The patriot's virgin daughter, victims both of Eoman 
hate ; 

Telling of a fearful struggle, of Helvetian valor vain, 
Of the legions shouting "Victory!" o'er the red 
couch of the slain ; 

Of the city's humble message of submission and 

despair. 
Despatch 'd by reverent fathers with staffs and snowy 

hair ; 

Of the foeman's haughty answer, his unbending, 

stern decree. 
That the idol of the nation, rebellion's price must be. 

This, with aged eyes o'erflowing, in trembling, broken 

tones. 
Told the sages in their council, mid a storm of sighs 

and groans. 

But the people — crush'd, dishonor'd, by the fetter 

of defeat — 
Walked, wrapp'd in sullen silence, through each 

noise-deserted street. 



THE TOMB IN AVENTICUM. Ill 

None had dared to curse the tyrant, none had sought 

his guarded tent, 
To plead the cause of innocence, of a life in virtue 

spent. 

But the doom'd one had a daughter, a pure priest- 
ess young and fair, — 

All her woman's timid nature render'd bold by fierce 
despair. 

Through the warriors' encampment, through the 

mocking soldier-host. 
With filial speed she hasten'd, like a white-robed, 

fleeting ghost. 

Till before the Roman general, with panting grace, 

she kneel'd. 
Like a snow-flake from the heavens on that dark, 

ensanguined field. 

There, with prayers like inspiration, she implored 

her parent's life, 
Kiss'd the conqueror's bloody hand, weapon-hard- 

en'd in the strife, 

Invoked in supplication the dear phantoms of his 
dead, 

Begg'd, for sake of living blessings, mercy's gene- 
rous balm to shed. 



112 THE TOMB IN AVENTICUM. 

All the while still looking upward with her tearful, 

earnest eyes, 
And her quivering lips low murmuring all her 

heart's entreating cries ; 

Till the leaders who were fathers, standing in the 

general's tent, 
Felt their anger melt to softness, and kind looks of 

pity lent. 

But she plead to sterner metal than his iron-hilted 

sword ; 
For he cast aside the weeper, and gave the fatal 

word! 

She clung to him like ivy, never loosen'd once her 

hold, 
Promised all that life could offer, — hidden stores of 

secret gold, 

Swore to pledge her whole existence as his hum- 
blest, lowest slave, 

To redeem this well-beloved one from the shadow 
of the grave. 

Once again he dash'd her from him, coldly bade the 

herald fly 
To proclaim that, ere the sun set, her rebellious sire 

should die ! 



THE TOMB IN AVENTICUM. 113 

Then arose with liaughty cahnness the patriot's 

only child, 
Her slight form rearing proudly, hushing all her 

anguish wild. 

And amid those armed warriors a sudden shiver 

swept. 
To see such lightning flashing from the eyes so 

lately wept. 

Then, clear as silver tocsin in a god's most holy shrine, 
Rang her tones throughout the silence, like an oracle 
divine. 

As she call'd with solemn vengeance a great curse 

from mighty Jove 
On his household, on his kindred, upon all that he 

should love. 

Child, woman, priestess, prophetess, they quail'd 

before the spell. 
All their stubborn natures shuddering as the fearful 

accents fell. 

Then forth, like holy thing, unharm'd, with proud 

mien and tearless eye, 
Went to meet her martyr'd father, on his bloody 

bier to die. 

Fifteen hundred years had vanish'd, when, amid 

the ruin'd state 
Of Aventicum's dead glory, men read her noble fate. 
8 



114 THE TOMB IN AVENTICUM. 

Who there cared to know what monarch had trod 

those stately halls, 
Where now an echoing footstep breaks a quiet that 

appalls ? 

Who ask'd what chariots triumph'd, what name 

was rallying word, 
What shouts those walls had startled, what prayers 

those altars heard ? 

For 'tis not to these the stranger, when fresh from 
history's page. 

Turns, searching for the beauties of a buried, dis- 
tant age ; 

But, apart from meaner relics, seeks the sepulchres 

of yore. 
Till the urns where heroes moulder all the perish'd 

Past restore. 

Tomb of Julia Alpinula, what mute eloquence is 
thine, 

Filling all our hearts with fragrance like the in- 
cense from a shrine ! 

And our thoughts grow rich with rapture, recol- 
lecting thy brave deed, 

And we yearn across life's ruins with a newer, purer 
need, — 

Need to find amid its temples, mid its castles over- 
thrown, 

More of love's rare aloe-flowers, in the ages blooming 
lone. 



THE QUESTION OF THE DAY IN 1860. 115 



THE QUESTION OF THE DAY IN 1860. 

Dissolve the Union, that the worn-out thrones 
Across the sea may mock us as we fall, 
And envious powers grow secure in ill, 
And crush their peoples with an iron heel 
To grind out gold and blood from subject-worms, 
That they no more, uplooking from the dust, 
May westward turn with hearts of yearning faith, 
And murmur to their children, " Ah, 'tis there ! 
The land of promise, wherein men may think. 
And not be slain for speech or robb'd of right V 

Dissolve this Union, and dear hope dies out 

In all the eager souls that watch its stars 

Rise steadfast o'er the earth with growing light. 

Pray that they prove not meteors that fade, 

When they should guide all steerless ships of state 

To one great haven of ensampled peace. 

Save our great eagle and her eyrie broad 

From pecking crows, and vultures that await 

Her parting struggles to usurp her nest. 

Lest e'en the pure, white stripe of our proud flag 

Be dipp'd by anarchy's foul hand in gore. 

And wave no more the beacon of the world. 

See how she sits, our young and lovely land, 
Throned on two seas that crouch beside her state, 
Queen mid the nations, lifting her fair brow, 



IIG THE QUESTION OF THE DAY IN 1860. 

Serene with prosperous peace and plenty's smile, 
Crown'd but with beauty o'er the heads of kings. 
Shall we, her children, borne upon her breast, 
Thus make her tremble with the awful dread 
Lest we, her own, shall tear her limb from limb, 
And shroud in mourning all the brilliant hopes 
That wait upon her glory, while her knell 
Shall be old Tyranny's glad, scornful laugh ? 

In her deep heart she holds some mighty dead, 

Who stirr'd the nations with their words, and bore 

With Atlas strength a world of care and thought. 

Alas that they, the giants of those days, 

Awake not now to hurl upon her foes 

The curse of God on parricidal sin, 

And win with charmed eloquence of yore 

The sluggish masses to a holy rage, 

Would crush the serpents that now hiss and sting, 

Crawling in highest places of the land I 

Up, people of the States that love your homes ! 
Up, gallant hearts that throb with pure disdain 
Of traitorous arts ! Up, slumbering souls of fire ! 
Build ye a Haman's gallows for these knaves 
That dare to raise a voice or hand to break 
The sweet relationship our fathers left 
To bind us all, cemented with their lives ! 
North and South, — two brothers of one birth, — 
Meet ye again as they at Peniel met, 
Jacob and Esau, thinking each of strife, 



THE HESPERIDES. 117 

Yet, when they came anear, wept with pure love 
Upon each other's neck ; that both may say, 
*' Keep that thou hast, for God has dealt 
Most graciously with each ; and thus we see 
Each other's face, as 'twere the face of God, 
Shining with blessing ; and the Lord of Hosts 
Watch between thee and me for evermore !" 



THE HESPERIDES. 



" The Hesperides," or " The "Western Maidens," were three 
celebrated nymphs. They are said to have been the daugh- 
ters of Night, and to have had no father. Their home was 
beyond the bright ocean. When the bridal of Jupiter and 
Juno took place, all the deities came, bearing nuptial presents 
for the bride ; among them came the goddess of Earth, bring- 
ing with her branches having golden apples growing thereon. 
Juno, being greatly pleased with the branches of golden fruit, 
begged of Earth to plant them iu her gardens, which extended 
as far as Mount Atlas. The request was granted, and the 
Hesperides wei'e set to guard them. But, alas ! the fruit was 
too tempting; and, like our first mother, they put forth their 
hands and j^lucked for themselves. Juno waa so enraged at this 
conduct, that she sent a great dragon to guard the pi-eeious fruit. 
Hercules was sent by Eurystheus to bring some of it. On his 
quest he came to the river Eridanus, and inquired of some 
nymphs where the apples were to be obtained. They directed 
him to Nereus, whom he found asleep : him he bound and 
held fast till ho told him. He visited Egypt, roamed through 
Arabia, over the mountains of Libya; he then reached the 



118 THE HESPERIDES. 

eastern course of the ocean, which he crossed in the cup of 
the sun-god. He now came to where Prometheus lay chained 
with a bird feeding on his liver ; he shot the bird and delivered 
Prometheus, who, out of gratitude, warned him not to go 
himself after the apples, but to send Atlas, and in the mean 
time support the heavens in his stead. Atlas, accordingly, 
went for the apples, and, when he returned, proposed to carry 
them to Eurystheus himself. This Prometheus seemingly 
acceded to, but asked him to take hold of the heavens while 
he put a pad on the head of his friend Hercules. The un- 
wary Atlas threw down the apples and resumed his burden, 
when Hercules snatched up the fruit and went on his way. 

We seek it in our glowing youth, — 

That wondrous garden far away ; 
We deem its golden fruit still waits 

For us alone each passing day. 
We close our eyes to see them shine, 

We wake to strain our utmost speed, 
Forgetful of the dragon-guard, 

The tempting branch our sorest need ! 



We cross the changing foam of life, 

Nor pause to measure depths below : 
The sun-god's radiant cup upbears 

Our hot hearts o'er the wave's dark flow. 
We scale the mountains, pass the waste, 

Yet linger, mid the earnest quest, 
By murmuring streams, 'neath harvest-moons, 

Of siren nymphs the willing guest ! 



AFTER THE TRIUMPH. 119 

We free the cliain'd Promethean thought 

From tyrant Custom's gnawing beak ; 
Yet, strong in faith, the heavens rest 

Upon the dreams we never speak. 
The years grow gray ; unwither'd still 

The golden apples sparkle there ; 
We know some path must reach the gates, 

Mount Atlas bounds our worst despair ! 

Alas, alas for all our hopes ! 

Our heart-beats fainter throb at last ; 
We droop our heads on Memory's breast, 

Hesperides was in the Past ! 
We think again of harvest-moons, 

The dead we knew, the kisses sweet : 
The high endeavor leaves our soul ; 

AVe only long the loved to meet ; 
Once more the passionate old thrill 

Of yearning to our lives is given ; 
God, Death, and Truth alone reveal 

The real Hesperides is heaven ! 



AFTER THE TRIUMPH. 



I, Zexobia, queen of the wide East, 
Even I have swell'd a Roman monarch's march 
Of triumph through his Rome ! I, that did wear 
Imperial purple in mine own far land, 



120 AFTER THE TRIUMPH. 

Dragg'd royal robes in mockery through the dust, 

Sweeping the way before Aurelian's car, 

My conqueror's herald, who then smiled to see 

His worthiest foe, a woman and unqueen'd. 

Thus stared at by the common crowd, whose shouts 

Would hail his victor with as loud acclaim. 

Gods! how they sneer'd because I rear'd my head, 

Drooping with jewels, regally as he. 

Whilst German amazons wept tears of shame ! 

I, that did come of kingly loins, and bore 

Three princes to their crowned sire, thus walk'd, 

Endiadem'd, the sceptred peasant's slave ! 

I, that had awed Armenia, and sway'd 

The restless Arabs with my white, strong hand, 

That allied with the Persian, and have chain'd 

My own ancestral Egypt to my throne, — 

I bear these fetters ; golden though they be, 

They bind my flesh like tighten'd coils of snakes. 

And crush my heart beneath their splendid weight. 

Tadmor of the desert ! isle of palms ! 

Zenobia lost herself in losing thee, 

And thou art lost in her that had the will 

To make thee rival this proud western state ! 

Soon shalt thou hide the glories of my reign, 

Thy gorgeous beauty, and thy gathered wealth, 

Beneath entombing sands ; no sovereign more 

Shall raise thee to the height from which I fell ! 

Oh, why was I so form'd that clear disdain 

Of female arts destroy'd my power to win ? 

Swart Cleopatra with her eyes and lips 



AFTER THE TRIUMPH. 121 

Conquer'd her conqueror, kept her royal name, 

And ruled the serf she purchased with a kiss ! 

I too, perchance, if I had deign'd to sue. 

To smile, and deck myself with tender wiles, 

Mi«;ht thus have gain'd fame's immortality. 

Mistress of the world's one master, whom this Rome 

Will make a god and leave me mortal still ! 

For I do know that I am beautiful, 

And, like dead Antony, Aurelian too 

Is but a man ! But I went forth to meet 

My enemy the emperor like a king. 

Or, as in other times I rode beside 

My noble husband, girded with my sword. 

To strike swift terror through the great king's realm. 

I headed mine own troops, — forgot to be 

A woman, till I should have thought alone 

How it became a vanquish'd queen to die. 

I loathe myself that I did dare to live, 

The Roman scoff, to fill a Roman's pride, 

Whilst my Palmyra shone beneath the sun, 

Dreading no slaughter in the open field. 

Yet trembling mid rude soldiers of the camp 

To face a captive's grim and unchaste death, 

Leaving my name to future ages* scorn. 

Whose history shall record, on living page. 

That in their hours of like and worst despair 

Great Cleopatra died, Zenobia lived ! 



122 THE poet's wife. 



THE POET'S WIFE. 

He was so high above the common herd, 

And I so far below his lofty state, 
How could I deem that he should lift me up 
To share his fate ? 

He pass'd so many eager watchers by. 

Scorn' d wealth and mighty royalties of grace. 
To draw me from the dust, and give to me 
The wifely place ! 

I could have stay'd forever at his feet, 

Unnoticed, learning snatches of his song. 
That stirr'd the world's deep heart, and made sad 
souls 

For action strong ! 

I did not seek to come into his life : 

The wide earth worshipp'd him, and so might I. 
'Twas happiness to stand apart and see 
His face go by ! 

But when he took me in his folding arms, 

And look'd in mine with loving, mournful eyes, 
And laid my head upon his human heart. 
My soul's surprise 



THE poet's wife. 123 

So kept me silent that I dared not ask 

Why he from queendoms thus had turn'd away, 
His laurel crown upon my humble brow 
Proudly to lay. 

There only thrill'd through my unspoken bliss 
Remember'd words that long ago were sung, 
Our bridal omen : — "Whom immortal gods 
Do love, die young [" 

I stand beside him in his victor's car, 

I hear the shouts for every triumph won, 
And mark his quiet smile at such reward 
For labor done. 

And know he looks across the present years 

To coming ages that shall keep his fame, 
While men shall know me chiefly as the one 
That bore his name. 

1 minister unto his daily wants ; 

I hold his tired head upon my breast ; 
I smooth aside all petty things that mar 
His perfect rest. 

But this is all ! I cannot comprehend 

The wondrous thoughts that make his pale cheeks 
glow, 
The new-born dreams that in his teeming brain 
To giants grow. 



124 THE poet's wife. 

I cannot soar with him through rapturous flights, 

Nor share his inspiration's trembling hour, 
Nor grasp the beautiful with throbbing pulse 
Of conscious power. 

He never seems to marvel that I move 

Mid household duties as if my sole care 
Was woman's thrift, and every night to raise 
My voice in prayer. 

He knows not that I feel aught save content, 

Sitting among the violets alone, 
Outside the Eden where God's angels talk 
Around his throne. 

Yet something in my quiet nature calms 

The fever of his ever-yearning life ; 
And so I hide the secret of my pain, — 
My inward strife. 

Ah, well ! I shall die soon, and then — and then — 

In heavens of progress I, perhaps, may grow 
To his mind's stature, — his own truer wife 
Than here below ! 

That there at last, half strangers through this life. 

Our unveil'd souls may evermore respond. 
And seal, in mansions of Our Father's house, 
Our marriage bond. 



THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 125 

Onl)'' God love him when my love shall j^ass 

Out of his earthly home, and teach him still, 
Amid his high aspirings, to bow down 
To God's good will ! 

It is his poet's fate that he must be 

Within the world with his great soul alone, 

And only meet upon Death's mystic shore 

His very own. 
1S61. 



THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 

MoRxixG on the lone and silent Pampas, 
Those dewless plains of long and stirless grass 
O'erarch'd by skies unshadow'd by a cloud. 
And all unbroken in their sea-like calm, 
Except where, here and there, a parching palm 
Uprears its barren stem, and marks to sight 
Some space between the mingling earth and heaven, 
Or musky odors of the arid ground 
Thicken the air, amid whose torrid heat 
Kise vapory columns like the smoke of fires ! 
Solemn and still those vast savannas reach 
Through level solitudes of countless miles, 
Unsought by man, and whose untrodden depths 
No taint, perchance, have borne of human death ! 
And thus they seem'd upon this fervid morn, 
When the hot sun, like a great flaming eye, 



126 THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 

Saw motion mid those withering waves of green, 
That onward swell'd from the horizon's verge, 
And stirr'd to life a myriad hidden things, 
That fluttering swarm'd from midst the sheltering 

blades 
Before th' advancing dust that broke their rest, 
As, panting, snorting in their thirsty haste, 
A troojD of desert horses rush'd along. 
Trampling the crackling verdure in their race, 
Startling the brooding silence of the waste 
With insect voices and their own wild tones. 
On, on they dash, creating with their speed 
And noisy breaths the movement of a wind, 
And raining foam on long unwater'd soil. 
They pause ; they wheel ; they circle in a group, — 
Impatient paw the ground, — take counsel short, — 
Break, — toss their flowing manes, — and start again. 
In compact throng, towards their unreach'd goal, 
Still straining blood-shot eyes in search of streams. 
And following one that ever leads the way. 
Chief of the horde in speed, in grace, in choice, — 
A chestnut mare, with stately, curving neck, 
And small jDroud head, that on the forehead bore 
A snowy star, as though to mark command. 
Whose tajDering limbs had borne her in the van, 
With silky hair and shining coat unfleck'd. 

No nomad kept the record of her kin, — ■ 

A prouder wealth than his own straight descent 

From Ishmael sire : yet every step and turn 



THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 127 

Betray 'cl an Arab ancestry of race, — 

Some noted dam by Spanish conquerors won 

In Moorish raid, and brought across the sea 

To lose a master in some Indian fight 

And find wild freedom in those Western wilds ! 

No Adam her untutor'd gambols check'd, 

And no alluring Eve, with timid hand, 

Tempted that arching neck to curbing rein ; 

No whisper'd spell could quell her flash of rage ; 

No spur or lash had goaded her quick blood. 

She knew not man : her will or wants alone 

Had led her where she would, controll'd the herd, 

And, where no human reason sway'd the sense, 

Her untaught instinct soar'd almost to thought. 

Her home was all the Pampas, and her course 
Unbounded save by rivers, on whose shores 
A thousand colors blended in one mass, 
And song and odor fill'd the forest-shade ; 
And thitherward she guided now the troop, 
Till in the burning noon they cease their speed, 



They sleep ; while she, less wearied, stands on 

watch, 
And casts upon her comrades now and then, 
That only stir beneath an insect's sting, 
A glance of mingled pity and contempt, 
That softens into almost human love. 
Sudden she lifts her drooping head, and looks 



128 THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS, 

With eager gaze across the changeless scene, 

As though to her keen sense some sight or sound 

Gave thrilling warning that she dared not slight, — 

Some token of near water, some faint breeze, 

So faint it scarcely bent the slightest herb, — 

Some breath of perfumed freshness from afar, 

Mingling with hers, and dying as it came. 

She starts ; she moves ; she stops to look again 

Upon her tired mates, as though in doubt 

To stir them to uncertain search once more, 

Or seek herself all peril and reward, 

Then bear, with frame refresh'd, the tidings back, 

And with unerring knowledge lead them on. 

She turns ; she waits ; another scented breeze 

Just lifts the wavy length of her dark mane ; 

She snuffs the passing gale with nostril wide. 

She beats with restless limbs the scorching ground, 

Gives the loud signal that awakes the rest, 

Then forward bounds, and onward, onward flies. 

And now they leave behind the sterile waste. 
The shorter grasses break not 'neath their tread. 
And here and there a tree gives welcome shade ; 
Now groups of palms, now thicker copses, rise, 
And now entangled arches hidden bear 
Unnumber'd choristers in leafy homes ; 
Now falls the volador's ripe, winged fruit. 
And now the gaumo's silvery stamens shine ; 
The Saint-Esprits hang snowy in the air. 
And soon in various and vivid hues 



THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 129 

The clustering blossoms cover roots and trunks ; 
While in the darkening woods a myriad plumes 
Dash changing rainbows through each oj^en space ; 
They wind through all, — now leaping some old tree 
Dragg'd down to earth by weight of twining vines, 
Now through some path first widen'd by their 

course. 
Treading out freshness with each fleeting foot ; 
And now their chests part back the trembling ferns, 
Uprousing slumbering serpents with their steps ; 
And more than once their stiffen'd ears upstart 
At sight of glaring eyes in shadow'd lairs. 
Now, now the trees grow fewer, and there sw^ells 
The welcome melody of water's sound ; 
Yet, struggling on mid sweeping branches still, 
They see the sparkling beach, and cool, wet sand ; 
Then from the forest spring o'er jaguar dead. 
And lave their swollen tongues in waves of life, 
Who.ie distant falls make music mid the mist ! 

Sudden all gambols cease. The shrinking group 

Together press, with looks of mortal fear, 

As one shrill cry of anguish cleaves the air 

And scares to silence all the woodland tribes. 

And then a muffled sound of cracking bones 

Proclaims the monster coils that quickly make 

Of grace and beauty but a shapeless mass. 

There, quivering, lay their wild, free, stately chief, 

Clasp'd in a mighty boa's dread embrace. 

That, from the nearest tree sw'ift darting, caught 



130 THE SOVEREIGN OF THE PAMPAS. 

The richest prize to gorge his tempted watch I 
Across the glossy neck the black, cold head 
Droop'd, that the slimy tongue might reach the 

breast, 
While each entwining fold, more tightly wound, 
Crushed out the ebbing life in shortening breaths. 
Her comrades fly, back through the forest-aisles, 
Back to their prairie home, and leave her there 
With that great serpent, terror, and her death. 
But when the Southern Cross began to bend, 
And moonlight mingled all the hues of earth 
In one soft radiance of silver sheen. 
Still mid the placid quiet of the night 
The sated monster stretch'd his torpid length, 
Beside the mangled victim of his power. 
Who, e'en too large for his elastic throat. 
Was left for that dead jaguar she had spurn'd. 
A noise disturbs the feasted monster's sleep ; 
But, ere the languid reptile rears its head, 
Unnumber'd vengeful hoofs, with eager rage. 
Stamp out the life and break the striving coil ; 
And when the condors gather'd in the morn, 
One fatal foe across the other lay ! 



CIIATTERTON. 131 



CIIATTERTON. 

The boy came up to London, high in heart 

And beautiful in face, — a dreamer born. 

With genius for a soul ; earnest hope 

Wing'd his wild thoughts of fame, and lonely pride 

Saw with clear eyes the lowness of the race 

That young ambition long'd to mould and rule. 

OJhe great town lay before him : from that mass 

Of throbbing life his able hand would snatch 

Cool laurel leaves, fresh with the dew of praise, 

To crown his fever'd and work-wearied brain. 

Within himself he felt expanding germs 

Of unshaped visions swelling into song. 

And heard the echoes ringing through the world 

Down all the ages, till the tones sublime 

Met the last trumpet's sound, and mingled then 

With music of Eternity's long hymn ! 

His spirit leap'd to greet the coming minds 

Should stand apart from all the meaner herd, 

Monarchs by right divine, whose grand words 

Would hail him worthy to wear royal robes 

And walk with them in amaranthine fields. 

The sense of power thrill'd the slender frame, 

Fired the soft eye, dash'd from th' aspiring heart 

All stings of memory, poverty's sharp chill, 

"Vague yearnings for the unattain'd, and e'en 

The wild unrest that urged his onward steps 

From home and kindred towards an unknown fate. 



132 CHATTERTON. 

The world was wide before him ; he was strong 
To wrestle till he placed his conquering foot 
Upon its neck to reach his victor's car ; 
And then — and then — wliy, let the dim Then come ! 

The boy came up to London. Day by day 

The coils of destiny tighten'd round his life, 

As hard reality strijip'd off all veil, 

And hour by hour the hot, exultant glow 

Of passionate, eager hope died from his dreams. 

The goal receded, and grim, sickening want 

Mock'd his white lips at every hungry moan ! 

The great gift-pearl, crown-jewel for a world. 

Was trod by sightless swine in misery's mire ! 

The golden grain of lofty thought was ground, 

Like common grist, in mills of sneers and sale. 

And eat by hinds that never cared to know 

What laden sheaf had borne such wondrous bread ! 

And on the street the busy, selfish crowd 

Moved to and fro, nor deem'd that midst them stood 

One greater than themselves : so well the gods 

Wear mortal shapes when banish'd from their right! 

And if mid waiting weeks came up a voice 

Of recognition from the throng that hail'd 

An unknown mind, he only smiled to see 

Those bearded men by boyhood so befool'd, 

And work'd a lower vein than this that won 

The wine of praise, but not one taste of meat ! 

Until at last, uprising from his toil, 

Madden'd by living, fetter'd by coarse needs. 



CHATTERTON. 133 

He look'd once more into the night, earth's night, 
And at the distant stars, ghttering and cold 
And pitiless, and, with his burning eyes 
Searching the darkness, bade farewell to hope, 
Drain'd hemlock, and lay j^rayerless down to sleep. 

The boy came up to London, — and died young! 
The days wore on, and still the sun shone bright ; 
The peoi)le came and went, and smiled and wept. 
And all tlie outward show of life changed naught. 
Though he was not ! Great Nature gives no sign 
When human creatures drop pain's heavy cross, 
To rest within her breast ; Greece never shook 
Because Apollo soar'd from her dull plain, 
To share divine ambrosia at the feasts 
Amid Olympus' mists ! Only long years, 
Slow-sweeping into ages, taught at last 
To reverent hearts what greatness there died young, 
And how, perhaps, out of that fever'd youth 
And restless scorn a something might have come, 
When mellowing time had ripen'd reason's growth, 
Could sway the listening ages into awe. 
And give to England one more mighty name, 
To lift her royalty its own height higher ! 

Died young ! And when, one morn, they found him 

thus. 
The war of passion still on that white face, 
The fragments of his work about him streAvn, 
The poison at his side, and over all 
12 



134 TIME AND THE SEA. 

The arching sky, was there no lesson writ 
In that short life, that sad, unhappy death, 
Of warning unto men, that such as he 
Are sent unto the earth, as oft of old 
God's messengers within His city cried, 
Whose people stoned them ? — and so One did weep 
To utter o'er the place, " Woe ! woe ! thou 
That slayest the prophets that are sent to thee !" 
1862. 



TIME AND THE SEA. 



Up from his mighty deeps old Ocean roll'd, 

To the majestic music of his waves, 
That swell'd towards the sunlight and soft air, 

Above unnumber'd wrecks and human graves. 
Upon the shell-strewn shore the steps of Time 

Scarce left their trace, as, counting one by one 
The billows and the minutes as they came, 

He sigh'd to see his sand so swiftly run ; 

Till suddenly the murmur of the sea 

Grew to the language that all Nature knows, 
And broke at last upon his listening sense. 

That caught new meanings in its ebbs and flows: 
" Strong as thou art in thy destroying power, 

To me alone thy shape no terror brings : 
Thy mowing scythe no impress e'er can leave 

Upon my closing foam or secret springs ! 



TIME AND THE SEA. 135 

" Man fears alike my depths and thy sure dart ; 

Within my hidden caves, as on thy path, 
The ruins of his loftiest works are strewn, 

Himself the noblest wreck that feeds our wrath ! 
And he, the last created, sovereign mind. 

Trembles to tread in our recorded track, — 
To trust his dear ones to our treacherous care ; 

For Time and Ocean yield no treasures back ! 

" Thou shakest kingdoms into desert dust, 

And leadest nations, blinded, to their fall; 
Life's grandest, loveliest, mightiest things 

Own that thy mouldering touch is on them all! 
But only I in the wide, changing world. 

Thine equal from the first, unalter'd still, 
Sweep through thy realms, nor show one mark of 
thine. 

Whilst thou thyself art gray with gathered ill ! 

" Pass on, Time ! Ocean, alone thy peer, 

Can laugh to scorn or wrestle with thy hand ; 
For Earth is ours, its mysteries and hopes, — 

Mine the vast deep, and thine the crumbling 
land !" 
Time turn'd his glass, and answer'd, as he moved 

Beside the limit of the water's space, 
Just casting, as he spoke, into their tide 

A little stone, that sank and left no trace : 

" Thus thou and I shall sink, boasting waves, 
Into eternity, on that great day 



lo6 AFTER THE BATTLE. 

When o'er the land and sea the angel's voice 

Proclaims that thou and I shall pass away. 
Both servants of one Master, each must work 

Appointed ways towards the destined end, 
And when His will, * who doeth all things well,' 

Is fully wrought, to our dead past descend ! 
Whilst man, whom here we hold within our grasp. 

Forever lives ; for life is God's own breath. 
The soul, that with the heavenly host and Him 

Shall watch the close of Time, and Ocean's death !" 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 



Hold the lantern aside, and shudder not so ! 

There's more blood to see than this stain on the 
snow ! 

There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there, 

And fix'd faces all streak'd, and crimson-soak'd hair ! 

Did you think, when we came, you and I, out to- 
night 

To search for our dead, yon would be a fair sight ? 

You're his wife ; you love him, — you think so ; and I 
Am only his mother : my boy shall not lie 
In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can bear 
His form to a grave that mine own may soon share ! 
So, if your strength fails, best go sit by the hearth, 
While his mother alone seeks his bed on the earth. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 137 

You will go ! then no faintings ! Give me the light, 
And follow my footsteps ! — my heart will lead right !— 
An, God ! what is here ? a great heap of the slain, 
All mangled and gory ! — What horrible pain 
These beings have died in ! Dear mothers, ye weep, 
Ye wee]), oh, ye weep o'er this terrible sleep ! 

More ! more ! Ah ! I thought I could nevermore 

know 
Grief, horror, or pity for aught here below. 
Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief tell 
How brave was my son, how he gallantly fell ! 
Did they think I cared then to see officers stand 
Before my great sorrow, each hat in each hand ? 

Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor fright. 
That your red hands turn over towards this dim 

light 
These dead men that stare so ? Ah, if you had kept 
Your senses this morning ere his comrades had left, 
You had heard that his place was worst of them all — 
Not mid the stragglers — where he fought he would 

fall ! 

There's the moon tlirough the clouds : Christ, Christ, 

what a scene ! 
Dost thou from thy heavens o'er such visions lean 
And still call this curst world a footstool of thine ? 
Hark ! a groan ; there, another, — here in this line 
Piled close on each other. — Ah, here is the flag. 
Torn, dripping with gore — Pah ! they died for this rag ! 
12* 



138 AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Here's the voice that we seek. — Poor soul, do not 

start : 
We're women, not ghosts. — What a gash o'er the 

heart ! 
Is there aught we can do ? a message to give 
To any beloved one ? I swear, if I Hve, 
To take it for sake of the words my boy said, 
" Home," " mother," " wife" — ere he reel'd down 

'mong the dead ! 

But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood ? 
Speak, speak, man, or point I — 'twas the Ninth ! — 

Oh, the blood 
Is choking his voice ! — what a look of despair ! 
There, lean on my knee, while I put back the hair 
From eyes so fast glazing — Oh, my darling, my own. 
My hands were both idle when you died alone ! 

He's dying — he's dead ! — close his lids — let us go. 
God's peace on his soul ! — If we only could know 
Where our own dear one lies ! — My soul has turn'd 

sick ! 
Must we crawl o'er these bodies strewn here so 

thick ? 
I cannot ! I cannot ! How eager you are ! 
One might think you were nursed on the red lap of 

War. 

He's not here, — and not here ! — What wild hopes 

flash through 
My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 139 

And cast up a prayer to the blue, quiet sky ! — 
Was it you, girl, that shriek'd ? Ah ! what face doth 

lie 
Upturn'd toward me there, so rigid and white ! 
God, my brain reels ! — 'Tis a dream ! My old siglit 

Is dimm'd with these horrors. — My son ! oh, my son ! 
Would I had died for thee, my own, only one ! 
There, lift oft' your arms ; let him come to the breast 
Wliere first he was lull'd, with my soul's hymn, to 

rest I 
Your heart never thrill'd to your lover's fond kiss 
As mine to his baby-touch : — was it for Oiis? 

He was yours too; he loved you! Yes, yes, you're right! 
Forgive me, my daughter: I'm madden'd to-night! 
Don't moan so, dear child ; you're young, and your 

years 
May still hold fair hopes — but the old di-e of tears ! 
Yes, take him again! ah, — don't lay your face there! 
See, the blood from his wound has stain'd your loose 

hair. 

How quiet you are ! — Has she fainted? — her cheek 
Is cold as his own. — Say a word to me, — speak ! 
Am I crazed ? — Is she dead ? — Has her heart broke 

first? 
Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine is worst! — 
I'm afraid! I'm afraid! alone with these dead ! — 
Those corpses are stirring ! God help my poor head ! 



140 A LETTER FOUND IN A TENT. 

I'll sit by my children until the men come 
To bury the others, and then we'll go home ! 
Why, the slain are all dancing I — Dearest, don't move ! 
Keep away from my boy ! he's guarded by love ! — 
Lullaby, lullaby ; sleep, sweet, darling, sleep ! 
God and thy mother will watch o'er thee keep ! 



A LETTER FOUND IN A TENT. 

I THINK you will not cast aside, nor shred 
With your fair fingers and a scornful smile, 
This pajDer into strips, when you shall read 
^Twas writ upon the night before I died. 
For I shall die to-morrow — the great fight 
Comes off at dawn, and my place is in front ; 
And I am very glad, for I do know 
You cannot cast your careless eyes adown 
The long list of the slain, and see my name 
Without a stir within your heart, a thought 
Of how you held my life within your hand 
And cast it unto death ; you cannot meet 
My widow'd mother's face, my sister's grief, 
Nor feel your coldness shaken into pain ! 
And in the solemn silence of the night 
Your memories will rise up to slay your sleep, 
And with the sting of sharp remorse avenge 
My woe upon that woman's soul of yours ! 



A LETTER FOUND IN A TENT. 141 

Until at last you see through your own tears 
How true, how strong, how earnest was the love 
Your calm, proud eyes just glanced at and look'd o'er, 
Treading with your slow, imj)erial step 
A man's best hopes into despair's dark dust, 
And never listening to the throbbing heart 
That beat its wild dreams out beneath your feet ! 

Ah, well ! I did not mean to spend this hour 
The last, rei^roaching you for what is done, 
But just to use these moments, while my pulse 
Still leaps to fever-heat at thought of you, 
To say that I forgive you all the past, — 
Forgive you that you watch'd my mad love grow 
From birth to passion, from faint, timid hope 
To ripe presumption and betraying speech, 
And never stoop'd from off the icy throne 
Of your self-sway, to free, by word or look, 
Your slave from chains of his own high desires, 
Until he placed the sword within your grasp 
With which you pierced his quivering being through. 
Drawing the keen edge of your swerveless will 
Against his fate, with your untroubled words, 
And sweet, clear voice, — " I cannot love you, sir V 
And so the frenzy of that bitter hour 
Dash'd reason off — and I shall lead the van 
Upon to-morrow's field, and drown in blood 
The worthless life your red lips would not save ; 
And though you weep not, yet you shall not blush 
To know I loved you even unto death ! 



142 A LETTER FOUND IN A TENT. 

I think, perhaps, when you shall read these lines, 

You will accuse me — for you are not vain — 

Of overrating j'our weak power, and think 

That my forgiveness is too overstrain'd 

For your offence : 'tis true, you could not give 

The blossom of your spirit, till the leaves 

Had open'd into bloom ; and mine, alas ! 

Was not the breath its freshness to inhale ! 

Nor is it well for an immortal soul 

To cast the reins of destiny to hands 

That have not learn'd to guide wild passion's course; 

And I had grown not to that height sublime 

Of human victory, — conquest o'er myself! 

But eyes that catch a shadow from the wings 

Of God's great angel win prophetic sight ; 

And I can see among the coming years 

A time when, living with your idols crush'd, 

Your wounded heart, you shall look sadly back 

Upon my sorrow, that you scarce heed now, 

And think your pain a retribution sent 

By justice for your girlhood's deed ; and then 

It may bring comfort to your stricken soul 

To feel that I forgave you ere you died, — 

Forgave and loved you so that when you come 

Into the world beyond, and meet me there. 

Waiting for you alone, with your deep need 

Of love still unfulfill'd in earth or heaven, 

And say, with yearning eyes, " But only thou 

Gave me the spirit's truest love in life, 



THE CURSE OF THE GRAPE. 143 

And I am lonely, wanting it, e'en here !" 
Why, I at last shall take you in my arms 
And kiss that curving mouth ! Till then, adieu ! 



THE CURSE OF THE GRAPE. 

Over the shadows made by the vine, 

Under the arches of twining green, 
Pendent and purple the clusters glow. 

With rifts of sunlight sparkling between. 
The gatherers, poising on graceful heads 

Their laden baskets, pass gayly there, 
Laughing, singing, till the full-juiced fruit 

Trembles with ripeness on cadenced air. 

The vintage song 'neath the cloudless skies 

Rings free from a tone of woe or pain ; 
But, alas ! with moans of broken hearts 

It echoes back to those lands again ! 
The golden and ruby streams of wealth 

Out of the wine-press in rich floods pour, 
To drown, in their Circean, dancing foam. 

Dearest hojDes and dreams the wide world o'er ! 

Sing, bacchanals, at your noisy feasts ! 

Sing, harvesters, in your vintage bowers ! 
Crown your god with wreath of freshest leaves ! 

Deck your groaning wains with fairest flowers ! 



144 



AN EXPERIENCE. 



Through all the music and all the mirth, 
Yearns up the heavens an nnguisli'd cry, 

From slaves that line the triumphant path 
As Juggernaut's car is passing by ! 

Accursed ! Those globes of nectarine dew 

Bear mid their beauty the serpent's trail ; 
The lives that crush them on eager lips 

Must hear in their soul the seraph's wail ! 
Accursed ! accursed ! the hearth and the hall 

Hurl back on the grape their deepest hate ! 
Vintners, beware ! in each luscious branch 

The demons for some lost spirit wait. 



AN EXPERIENCE. 



I STOOD one morning, in the soften'd light. 

Before a great man's thought, made clear to mine 

By all the wealth of color and rich art, 
The harmony of grace and rare design. 

I felt its truth dawn slowly on my brain. 
Until its fulness swell'd the fount of tears, 

And, looking through the canvas, I beheld 
Prophetic glimpses of the coming years ; 

And for an instant felt myself allied 

In inspiration to that artist mind 
That thus, mid daily life, in simple things 

The spell of beauty could forever find. 



AN EXrERIENCE. 145 

The exaltation of my spirit grew 

Akin to pain, as overflowing eyes 
Drew curious stares, half smiling to behold 

Prim custom's screen from uncheck'd feeling rise. 

And so I i3ass'd into the noisy street, 

The brilliant sunshine, and the busy throng, 

As one half waken'd from delicious dream 
Hears mingling with rude tones an angel's song. 

" How poor," my gathering senses inly said, 
" How barren all these narrow lives appear ! 

Flow low their means, how little their desires ! 
How pride and glitter win their reverence here ! 

" While souls like that great painter's stand apart, 
Sublime by inspiration, and their power 

To sway the higher instincts of the herd, 
And hold them fetter'd for a passing hour! 

"Surely these few, the sovereigns of the world. 
Are nearer God, and see His throne more plain. 

Than all these shallow vendors in the mart. 

Whose dearest hopes are those of self and gain V 

Just then another inward voice replied, 

" Be still, judging heart ; for what art thou 

Darest call God's creatures common and unclean, 
And makest idols where thy soul may bow ? 
10 



146 AN EXPERIENCE. 

" The lowest being in yon restless crowd 
In Heaven's sight is as the grandest great, 

Their breath a thought of God : the mysteries hid 
Of birth and death give all an equal state ! 

"And every man holds that within himself 
No other man may know ! Alas I His not 

The gifted only that do stand alone 

And yearn and weep : it is the common lot ! 

" For though we sit together at the feast, 
And pledge each other's secret hope or plan, 

And tell the stories of our different fates, 

And think we know at last our neighbor man ; 

" And though we feel the clasp of tender arms, 
And walk through bitter trials hand in hand. 

And lean on hearts that love has made our own^ 
And side by side near open graves do stand ; 

*' Yet evermore within each separate soul 

Is that can be interpreted aright 
By One alone, the everlasting God, 

That weighs our actions by our inner light ! 

" And they, the mighty ones that work apart, 
Children of Genius, are servants sent. 

Evangels to their brethren, and their gifts 
Are but the Sender's means a short space lent ! 



A Peruvian's address to the sun. 147 

"They are the priests that go behind the veil 
Of flesh and sense, and, standing face to face 

With God's own glory, bring His word again 
To listening people from the holy place ! 

" They rouse the Possible in human minds ; 

They lift to heaven low and grovelling dreams ; 
They bear the truth to earnest, seeking hearts ; 

On darken'd souls let in sweet beauty's gleams ! 

" This is their mission ; let each one take heed 
To act his own in justice and in faith, 

Lest, it may be, the Nature scorn'd on earth 
May soar the highest in the hour of death !" 



A PERUVIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN, AFTER 
THE CONQUEST. 

SUN-, slow sinking in the summer sky, 

Tinging the western clouds to glory's glow. 
While round about thee purple islands lie, 

And over crimson'd peaks thy last rays flow ! 
Thy silent radiance recalls those days 

My nation worshipp'd thee ! when temples grand 
Thine image held, and reverent songs of praise 

Greeted, each dawn, thy rising o'er the land ! 
When kings the title of thy children bore, 

And all the people knew of good and bright 



148 A Peruvian's address to the sun. 

Was deem'd from thee, or shining semblance wore 
To one great source of beauty, warmth, and light ! 

No longer now, on golden symbols shed, 

Thy beams awaken holy morning hymn ! 
The virgins from thy sacred halls are fled ! — 

And yet thy dazzling splendor grows not dim ! 
The cruel stranger treads our conquer'd shore, 

The Inca blood cries out to thee in wrath, 
And helpless slaves thy mercies loud implore ! — 

Yet calm thy course upon thy lustrous path ! 
Sun, mighty god ! veil o'er thy face ! 

Shed dreadful darkness o'er this wretched land, 
To hide the ravage of the white man's trace : 

With vengeful terror strike this fearless band ! 

Their priests do tell us of a God more great, 

That hearken'd to His servants' earnest cry, 
And bade e'en thee amid the heavens wait 

Until His chosen race saw foemen fly, — 
The one Pachacamac that rules unseen ! 

The true Creator that form'd thee and me ! 
Whose only sacrifice is hearts made clean ! 

Who changes not to all eternity ! 
They preach Him thus ; but evil are their deeds ; 

Nor were we always pure 'neath thy fair beams. 
Their God is most sublime, though base their needs ! 

Sun, shine on : new truth upon me gleams ! 

1863. 



STANZAS. 149 



STANZAS, 

Suggested by Miss Cushman's Parewell to the S+ag 

When Siddons left the sadden'd stage, 

And laid the tragic sceptre down ; 
And Kemble changed for bridal veil 

The lustre of the drama's crown ; 
Melpomene kept lonely state, 

Or cover'd o'er offended eyes. 
As new aspirants seized her robes 

And bade reluctant curtains rise. 

But Heaven at last, that will not be 

Without a witness of its power, 
Jove's mourning daughter saw, and gave 

Another bright, auspicious hour ! 
For one amid the honor'd scenes 

Of Shakspeare reign'd a queen supreme, 
Brought life once more to storied shapes, 

A spirit to the poet's dream ! 

The wondering Muse her buskin loosed. 

And bound it on the foot that trod 
Wide realms of passion with the power 

Of priestess guided by a god. 
She placed her dagger in this hand, 

And yielded up her regal throne, 
To wander in Castalia's shades. 

While Cushman ruled o'er Art alone ! 



150 THE reapers' return home. 

But now the stage again beholds 

Its sovereign abdicate her sway ! 
The Muse must weep, the world deplore ; 

Her brow is weary of its bay. 
Yet still within a happy home 

Dear friends will speak her worshipp'd name, 
And love shall give her woman heart 

More true content than shouts of fame ! 



THE REAPERS' RETURN HOME. 

(Painted by Becker.) 

Through the golden tints of sunset, 

'Neath the glowing, crimson'd skies, 
With each smiling face uplifted, 

Where their work's warm flush still lies, 
All the reapers, homeward going. 

In a happy, cheerful throng, 
With gay voices sing the chorus 

Of an olden harvest-song. 

They have mow'd the waving glory 
Of the ripe and bending grain. 

Have knelt down where summer's splendor 
Mid the aisle of sheaves has lain, 

And have gather'd up the richness 
Of the small seed sown before, 



THE reapers' return HOME. 151 

Then with glad eyes stood rejoicing 
In the sure and garner'd store. 

Now they onward walk together 

Through the green and pleasant field, 
And each worker like a sceptre 

His sharp, shining scythe doth wield ; 
While the matrons toss their infants 

To the measure of the tune. 
Maidens, wishing o'er their shoulders, 

Watch the dim, new-rising moon. 

There are glances shy and tender 

Under manly, sunburn'd brows ; 
There are blushings at bold whispers, 

And fresh murmurs of old vows ; 
There are laughters, free and ringing, 

Plucking flowers by the way. 
And fond clinging of hands parted 

By their labor all the day. 

Age and youth and careless childhood 

Share the music of the strain, 
As they wend through clover fragrance 

Towards their waiting homes again, 
Where the night unto the weary 

Will give slumber without dreams, 
And bring silence with deep shadows, 

Till another morning beams. 



\ 



152 mercy's dream. 

There is reaping, tliere is gathering 

For us all upon the earth, 
And the sheaves we show at harvest 

Is what jDroves each spirit's worth ! 
Let us do our work so bravely 

That our hearts shall sing with praise 
In the glow of heaven's glory 

At the closing of our days ! 
When we lie down for our resting 

In our last home dark and still, 
May each tried soul find its waking 

Where Truth's rays the mansions fill ! 



MERCY'S DREAM. 

(Painted by Huntington.) 



A WOMAN sleeping in a "lonely place," 

With lovely brow uplifted for the crown 
An angel, floating upon rainbow wings, 

In light and glory brings from heaven down. 
And this is all the picture, yet our souls, 

By marvellous skill en wrapt, see more than this: 
We watch the seraph take the maiden's hand 

And lead her through the golden doors of bliss ; 
We follow them, mid brightness like the sun, 

To where, on great white throne, One sits su- 
preme, 



A summer's memory of BERKSHIRE. 153 

And hear the "Welcome, daughter!" caught by 
strains 
That thrill through Paradise and Mercy's Dream ! 

We think, perchance, the air about us now 

Is full of these angelic shapes, that wait 
Till we bemoan the hardness of our hearts 

Ere they can Avhisper " Peace" near Eden's gate ! 
Their unseen radiance may round us shine 

When we are weary in a lonely place, 
And in a seeming sleep our souls may go 

Close to God's throne with them, and see his face I 
And if, like Mercy, with pure love we tread 

Among our fellows this dark earth beneath. 
Our deeds shall draw down angels from the skies, 

And glow like jewels in our heavenly wreath ! 



A SUMMER'S MEMORY OF BERKSHIRE, MASS. 
(Painted by Jas. M. Hart.) 

A LOVELY vale, shut in by solemn hills. 

Where purple mists, great Nature's incense, rise 

To meet the fleecy clouds that float o'er fields 
Where brooding peace mid lengthening shadows 
lies ; 

A shallow brook that foams o'er brown, bare stones, 
In whose clear waters laving cattle stand ; 



154 ITALIA. 

A waiting wain high heap'd with fragrant hay, 
And sense of summer spread through all the land ! 

This is an artist's " memory" ! O'er his soul 

The viewless spirit of this silent scene 
Shed inspiration, that its haunt might win 

Immortal freshness for a season's green ! 
And so, upon our winter's gloomy verge, 

A fair, warm picture of past glory lives, 
That mid earth's coldness and white, coming snows 

The very essence of dead summer gives ! 

Keeps not each human heart some vision bright, 

On life's long journey, of a cherish'd place 
Wherein yet waves hope's golden, unreap'd gram. 

And love still wears its rich, unfaded grace ? 
Where soar high aspirations unto heaven, 

While barren rocks are veil'd in tinted haze. 
Youth's sweetest dream, om' being's vale of rest, 

A summer memory of dear, perish'd days ! 

November, 1863. 



ITALIA. 

(Painted by Merle.) 

Amid the ruins of her splendors past, 

On throne of sorrows does Italia sit. 
While ghosts of glories and grand regal state 
Before her memory flit. 



ITALIA. 155 

She lists no longer shouts of triumphs ring, 

Whose haughty echoes made the nations pale ; 
But through her vinelands, from the grave of hope, 
Goes up a people's wail. 

With eyes of yearning, and droop'd, clasping hands, 

She now looks outward, and awaits a fate, 
Lonely and sadden'd, but more loved and fair 

Than they whom strength makes great. 

Her grapes are purple on her thousand hills ; 

Her skies are cloudless ; and the golden glow 
Of noon and sunset fills the air with light 
Where days like dreams do flow. 

Her stones are storied ; heroes form her dust ; 

She holds rare jewels in undying fames; 
And classic ages call to passing times 

Her soil bears still their names. 

Art's home is with her ; and white, peerless shapes 
Still bring the wide world's tribute to their grace; 
While her old painters, with dead, stirless hands. 
Touch Earth's most distant place. 

Yet mid her treasures does she mournful stay, 
The tyrant's captive, who was once a queen, 
While despots quarrel o'er the weeping prize, 
And Freedom flies the scene. 



156 ITALIA. 

crush'd Italia, weak from many ills, 

Thine hour is dawning, thy hard chains shall break ! 
For strong Opinion, like a Samson bound, 
Begins from sleep to wake ! 

And men remember what thou wert of yore, 

While Europe's pulses with war's heat are stirr'd : 
And thou shalt hear, amid the battle-cries. 
Thy resurrection-word ! 

And, clad in beauty, lift thy head once more 
Among the crown'd ones, with thine ancient song, 

" lo triumphus ! lo triumphus ! 
Italia rights her wrong V 
April, 1864. 



LEGENDS OF THE ROUND TABLE. 



157 



NOTE. 

Several years before reading a line of Tennyson, I had 
met with the old romance of " Prince Arthur," translated from 
the French. Observing then the poetical nature of many of 
its incidents, I selected for future experiment most of those 
which afterwards formed the groundwork of these legends; 
though some — " The First Meeting of Launcelot and Guine- 
vere," "The King and the Bard," and *'Avilion" — had their 
origin entirely in my own imagination. The first six of the 
series were printed in the " Evening Journal" of Philadelphia, 
in 1857 ; the next two were published in 1859, before the 
appearance of "Idylls of the King;" the rest were written 
since, with the exception of " The Best Knight," and " The 
Last Meeting of Launcelot and Guinevere," which were com- 
posed more than a year before, though not issued in the " Home 
Journal" of New York until some time after Tennyson's book 
came out. 

This explanation is furnished so as to exonerate myself 
from an anticipated accusation of plagiarism of idea. 

Sallie Bridges. 



158 



EXCALIBUR. 159 



EXCALIBUR. 



For months it rested in the stone, 

The sword Excalibur ; 
The noblest knights of England's realm 

Strove hard the steel to stir : 
For word had gone through all the land 

That he who drew the blade 
Should fill the sovereign's empty throne, 

The rightful king be made. 

The flower of island chivalry 

Had come from far and near, 
To try their skill at tournament 

The first day of the year. 
Mid the barons went Sir Ector, 

His valiant son. Sir Kaye, 
And his foster-child, young Arthur, 

Forth to the courtly fray. 

Unknown to all, dead Uther's son 

Mix'd with the noble throng, 
Who dream'd not that to stripling page 

Could crown and throne belong. 
" Now, grammercy," quoth Arthur, 

In riding by Sir Kaye, 
" Good brother mine, how came you out 

Without a sword to-day V 



160 EXCALIBUR. 

Sir Kaye look'd down, and paled to see 

No weapon at his side : 
Then back his comrade spurr'd his steed, 

Across the meadows wide. 
To where lay idle in its sheath 

The knight's forgotten blade, 
But found that not a single squire 

Had in the castle stay'd. 

Quoth Arthur then, with sudden wrath, 

" From yonder mystic stone 
I'll pluck the sword, that good Sir Kaye 

May wield it as his own l" 
So, lighting down from off his horse, 

Towards the empty tent 
Tn which was kept Excalibur 

His eager footsteps bent. 

Its golden-letter'd hilt was bright, 

Its knightly guards away ; 
And so, with brave and fearless heart, 

He made his bold essay. 
He grasp'd the handle in his hand, 

Its point leap'd sharp and free. 
" My brother shall not go unarm'd 

To battle now !" cried he. 

When old Sir Ector saw the blade 
Flash in the morning light, 



EXCALIBUR. 161 

He knew it was the Sword of Fate 

That met his wondering sight, 
And ask'd of Arthur, " Whither came 

The steel thou gavest Sir Kaye ?" 
" I bore it," was the plain reply, 

" From stone and tent away." 

"Then, by my faith," the gray knight swore, 

•"An' thou canst draw again 
The sword from out the selfsame place, 

A monarch thou shalt reign !" 
And back within the marble stone 

Prince Arthur thrust the blade. 
While long in vain to pluck it thence 

Both high and low essay'd. 

*' Come hither ; strive again, my son !" 

And quick on Ector's sight. 
In Arthur's hand, the marvellous steel 

Was flashing keen and bright. 
Then kneel'd Sir Ector and Sir Kaye, 

With every squire and lord. 
To greet as lawful king the youth 

Who lean'd upon the Sword ! 

Then spoke his aged foster-sire, 

"■ Ye hail no child of mine !" 
But wist not buried Uther's heir 

Was king by right divine. 

11 



162 THE DEATH OF LANCEOR. 

Thus Arthur through Excalibur 
Eeceived his father's crown ; 

And ever through Excahbur 
He kept his high renown ! 



THE DEATH OF LANCEOR. 

The fight was over, and one shiver'd spear 

Had dash'd to splinters 'gainst a coat of mail ; 

The other, crushing an opposing shield, 

Had pierced the hauberk of a valiant knight 

And let his brave life through a ghastly rent. 

Upon the green hill-side Sir Lanceor fell, 

No more in tournament or joust to strive ; 

And good Sir Balin gazed upon his foe, 

And sadden 'd that his hand had stretch'd him there, 

Albeit in self-defence each blow was struck : 

Yet well he knew he might not often meet, 

In field or tourney, opponent so bold! 

And while he lean'd upon his unsheathed sword, 

Resting a moment after contest fierce, 

Sudden from out the forest at his side 

A fair, white palfrey, galloping with speed, 

Bore to his feet a damsel full of grace, 

Who, when she saw Sir Lanceor thus slain. 

Alighted down, and made a tearful wail. 

Clasping her arms about the stirless form. 

Casting on Balin each upbraiding look, 



THE DEATH OF LANCEOR. 163 

Wounding his soul with frantic words of woe : 

" Ah ! not one life alone hast thou destroy 'd, 

Thou cruel knight that slew this love of mine ! 

Two hearts thy weapon shatter'd when it cast 

This stalwart body on the trampled turf!" 

She took the steel from out the dead man's hand, 

And swoon'd in freeing thence the stifFen'd grasp ; 

And when she lifted up her pallid face, 

All tear-bedew'd and framed in golden curls, 

Sir Balin's thought was grieving passing sore 

That thus his act should make a lady's dole. 

He strove the slender fingers to untwine 

From round the heavy hilt of Lanceor's blade ; 

But, lightly stepping from his careful hold. 

Quickly she set the pommel on the ground, 

And thrust her bosom on the shining point. 

The ruby blood came gushing from her wound. 

Like red wine spill'd from goblet made of pearl ; 

The gentle figure, white-enrobed, sank down, 

Like to a stricken dove upon its nest ; 

The violet eyes rej^roacli'd him for her death, 

Then closed forever on her lover's breast. 

Oh, matchless love of woman ! Sure thou art 

The only flower of Eden left to bloom 

Amid the thorny thistles of real life. 

Scenting the wayside with thy rich perfume, 

Brightening with beauty common spots of earth ! 

" Alas !" said Balin, looking on the pair, 

" Sorely repent I now this brave knight's death, 

Because of her who loved him living so ! 



164 THE DEATH OF LANCEOR. 

And yet methinks 'twere happiness to die, 
In armor clad, doing one's right devoir, 
With one we love to breathe their last, warm sigh 
In sorrow out, surviving not our loss !" 
While thus he mused aloud, on horseback came. 
Riding apace, a dwarf from Camelot, 
That wildly grieved above the lifeless twain. 
Quoth good Sir Balin, " 'Twas a sorry deed ; 
And yet himself gave challenge for the tilt ! 
No craven heart is mine to fly from foe, 
And fate had will'd that one should linger here. 
The damsel died for love of yon still knight, 
And evermore I hold, for her sweet sake. 
All womankind in highest, dear esteem !" 
As thus they talk'd. King Mark of Cornwall rode 
On gallant charger by the touching group, 
And sorrow 'd greatly for such true hearts dead. 
Swearing with vows he would not stir from thence 
Till he had raised above their dust a tomb. 
Then, pitching his pavilion on the spot, 
His squires sought through all the country round 
To find a sepulchre would shrine them both ; 
And ere Sir Balin took his parting leave 
Of Cornwall's generous sovereign, he had reared, 
A monument right passing rich and fair. 
Brought from some distant church, and rarely carved 
And sculptured on the stone their name and fate : — 
"Here lieth Lanceor, a valiant knight. 
Prince Arthur's friend, and son of Ireland's king, 
Kiird by Sir Balin of the Table Round, 



THE TOMB OF THE TWELVE KINGS. 165 

In lawful tilt upon the green hill-side ; 
And on his breast the ladye of his love 
Sleepeth till judgment, slain by her own hand, 
For very sorrow, with her lover's sword ! 
Pray for the souls, gentle passer-by, 
Of fair Colombe and brave Sir Lanceor V^ 



THE TOMB OF THE TWELVE KINGS. 

Within St. Steven's holy aisle, 
Requiems chanting all the while, 

They buried bold King Lot. 
Right bravely he had fought, and well : 
Minstrel and harper long could tell 
How fatally his sharp strokes fell 

Ere his own death w^as got ! 

With dripping sword and shatter'd mail, 
He shower'd blows without avail 

To turn the battle's tide ; 
His best knights lay around him, slain ; 
His wounded steed was mad with pain ; 
Twelve kings a bloody couch had ta'en. 

And slumber'd side by side ! 

No recreant he, to turn and fly: 
So, shouting loud his battle-cry, 
He charged Sir Pellinore ! 



166 THE TOMB OF THE TWELVE KINGS. 

The knight heaved once his ruddy blade, 
One downward stroke the weapon made, 
That ever still the monarch laid, 
His life and warfare o'er ! 

And when the hour of strife was done, 
Prince Arthur bade the knights who won 

Bear forth the gallant dead, 
And foremost in the funeral train 
To place that valiant sovereign slain, 
That first in field by him again 

His comrades might be led ! 

And then within the sacred walls, 
Their tatter'd banners for their palls, 

And sword in each right hand, 
They buried them at Camelot; 
And Arthur built upon the spot 
Their tomb, to keep still unforgot 

The fame of this brave band ! 



In sepulchre full rich and fair, 
Of marble stone with carving rare, 

They laid King Lot alone ; 
And where the other sovereigns lay, 
Twelve gilded figures, night and day. 
Held burning tapers bright alway 

Above their tablet stone. 



SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 167 

And over all, with unsheathed sword, 
Stood Arthur as their conquering lord, 

The crown upon his head ! 
For years before the Sancgreal came, 
Above each quaintly sculptured name, 
Like living bursts of golden flame, 

Their light' the tapers shed. 



THE FIRST MEETING OF SIR LAUNCELOT AND 
QUEEN GUINEVERE. 

The Lady Guinevere Avas crown'd. 
And all Prince Arthur's Table Round 

Their fealty came to yield. 
She sat, the very fairest queen . . 

That England's realm had ever seen, 
Beside the bravest king, I ween, 
E'er handled weapon sharp and keen 

Or sceptre learn'd to wield. 

The golden circlet jewell'd rare 

Shone through the wealth of braided hair 

That wreathed her perfect head ; 
With crimson robe and snowy vest, 
And gems on arms and rounding breast. 
It seem'd to every knightly guest 
To be a hope supremely blest 

For her his blood to shed. 



168 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 

As one by one their bearded lips 
Just press'd her slender finger-tips, 

In token of their zeal, 
She bore her part with regal grace, 
That show'd the throne was fitting place 
For blood of Leodegraunce's race ; 
And who before such peerless face 

Would hesitate to kneel ? 

But when, unhelmeted and tall, 
Sir Launcelot trode across the hall 

And bow'd before the throne, 
A sudden meeting of their eyes, 
Quick caused the eddying blood to rise. 
To flush her cheek with richer dyes. 
Each echoing the other's sighs. 

As his hand touch'd her own. 

And thus, an instant, all forgot 
"Was royal mien and queenly lot 

In joy of passion's birth ; 
The heart-pulse leapt through all her frame 
Love's dawning broke in rosy flame 
Of blushing clouds that went and came 
As Launcelot vow'd henceforth her name 

Should be his star on earth ! 

A moment, and the spell was o'er : 

The womaii was a queen once more, 

And Launcelot, loyal knight ; ' 



merlin's grave. 169 

Bui ever through that festal day, 
Mid tournament or mock-melee, 
Their glances caught each other's ray; 
And Arthur praised her that alway 
Her blushes were so bright ! 



MERLIN'S GRAVE. 



Mighty wizard was old Merlin, the wisest of his age : 
But Love all living men subdues, and Love spared 

not the sage : 
So the gray-beard grew a dotard for one fair woman's 

sake, 
Ever following and wooing the Ladye of the Lake ; 
For she chain'd him with her beauty, and ruled him 

with a smile, 
Till he taught her each enchantment, each magic 

charm and wile ; 
And on the four Evangelists an oath she made him 

swear 
That his subtle craft should never her life with 

mysteries snare. 

But she loved no whit the wizard : yet, to learn his 

mystic art, 
She feign'd a loving passion, and acted well her part ; 
And he taught her all the wonders of the fire, earth, 

and sea, 
All the marvels of the genii, all tricks of glamourie. 



170 merlin's grave. 

Gave her words of spell and power the spirits to 
command, 

And gifted her with prophecy, with lore from every 
land. 

But she wearied of the master when his parables 
were o'er, 

And ladies laugh at lovers gray-bearded and three- 
score. 

Thus it happen'd, as they journey'd, he show'd her 

by the way, 
Mid a rock, a deep-hewn cavern, wherein a wonder 

lay, 
But that hitherto was hidden beneath a weighty 

stone 
From the entrance could be shaken by sorcery 

alone ; 
Then she pray'd the old magician, with many a 

witching word. 
To venture in and record bear what sights were 

there interr'd : 
In an evil hour for Merlin he did the Ladye's will. 
For she quickly wrought her magic, and the rock 

entombs him still. 

Long in court and council-chamber they waited for 

the sage, 
And marveird what endeavor his absence should 

engage ; 



SIR launcelot's slumber. 171 

'Twas whisper'd he had wander'd afar beyond the 
main 

To countries of the Orient, and yet would come 
again, 

With more than mortal wisdom, to work for Eng- 
land's weal, 

From the sepulchre of Solomon bearing home the 
sacred seal. 

But forever kept the Ladye the secret of the stone, 

As sh-e sat beneath the waters and wrought her 
spells alone. 



SIR LAUNCELOT'S SLUMBER. 

The golden sunshine gemm'd the stream, 

Where drooping lilies shadows made ; 
The willow-branches touch'd the wave, 

As though they woo'd their own cool shade 
A Sabbath stillness fill'd the air ; 

The very insects ceased their tones ; 
Only the waters rippling by 

Made music round gray, sunken stones. 

The river-road was hot and dry ; 

Beyond, a broad, green meadow lay. 
Wherein was set a single tree. 

Whose ripening fruit perfumed the way ; 



172 SIR launcelot's slumber. 

Its clustering leaves and laden limbs 
Darken'd below the grassy plain, 

While o'er its gnarl'd and rugged roots 
Nature a mossy cloak had lain. 

Adown the scorch'd and pebbled road 

Sir Launcelot came this summer morn 
With glittering hauberk, glaives of steel. 

And lance upon his saddle borne. 
He left the pathway, cross'd the field, 

And 'neath the spreading apple-tree 
Unarm'd his weary, mail-clad steed, 

And let him roam the pasture free. 

Unloosing then his visor 'd casque, 

Upon the sward he downward laid, 
His helm for pillow, and his hand 

Clasping the pommel of his blade. 
Thus slumber'd he at noontide hour. 

The bravest knight in all the world, 
With stalwart form and sunburn 'd brow. 

Where, all untrain'd, the brown hair curl'd. 

And as, perchance, in daring dreams, 

He spent the rapture of a kiss 
On Guinevere's red, dewy lips, 

And felt their softness cling to his. 
Four lovely queens, on four white mules, 

Kode slowly through the meadow green, 
O'er whom four knights on lifted spears 

Bore canopy of silken sheen. 



SIR launcelot's slumber. 173 

And as they wended on their way, 

Sudden there burst upon their sight, 
Dreaming beneath the golden fruit, 

This vision of a sleeping knight. 
And, gathering round his grassy couch. 

In earnest whispers spoke each dame. 
Disputing which could love him most. 

And which the captive's self should claim. 

Sut Morgan Le Fay, of Gore the Queen, 

A ladye subtle, proud, and wise, 
Then wrought a spell of glamour old. 

That bound the poppies on his eyes. 
Until within her castle near 

Their knights had borne him o'er the field. 
His hand still clasp'd upon his sword. 

And he outstretch'd on his own shield. 

And there she woke him from the spell; 

And, when the morrow's sun was bright. 
All richly dress'd, the four fair queens 

Assail'd the heart of this brave knight, — 
King Arthur's sister, false Le Fay, 

The Ladye of the North Countrie, 
Eastland's proud queen, and she who ruled 

The isles upon a distant sea. 

But still the pleasure of his dream 

Thrill'd through Sir Launcelot's waking hour ; 
Before the image of his love 

All other charms had lost their power ; 



174 



And so he hearken'd not their speech, 
Or answer'd them with careless tone, 

Till each, enraged, withdrew her suit, 
And left him with his thoughts alone. 

There is no cause like this on earth 

To rouse a woman's slumbering ire. 
To turn her fondest love to hate. 

And kindle pride's enduring fire : 
Crush her, condemn, insult, abuse, 

She ne'er forsakes, and still loves on ; 
But scorn, neglect, and passion's slave. 

She vengeance seeks, her patience gone ! 

And so they kept Sir Launcelot there, 

A prisoner, many a weary daj'', 
Eust gathering on his armor bright. 

He chafing at his idle stay. 
But never once, in word or deed. 

His sworn allegiance shook or swerved ; 
At Guinevere's fair shrine alone 

He worshipp'd still, and Arthur served. 

But when the queens relax'd a while 

Their constant watch and steadfast guard, 
Forth to his olden freedom then. 

Through twelve strong locks, twelve gates: 
close-barr'd, 
A damsel guided him once more. 

To battle for her father's sake ; 
And boldly was that promise kept 

By good Sir Launcelot of the Lake. 



BEAUMAINS VOW. 1/5 



BEAUMAINS' VOW. 



'TvFAS Whitsunday morn, and King Arthur held 

Round Table at Kenedon Hall, 
But vowed at Pentecost never to eat 

Till adventure strange should befall. 
So his hundred and fifty armed knights 

Sat patiently waiting at noon, 
And only Sir Launcelot murmur'd aloud, 

"God send meat and adventure soon V 

But sudden and curious silence fell, 

As enter'd the door of the hall 
Two men, on whose shoulders another lean'd, 

Fair-handed, well-visaged, and tall. 
And spoke to the king, as he rear'd him straight, 

" My monarch, I come here to pray 
Three gifts of thy grace ; but of only one 

I crave the fulfilment to-day.'^ 

" We grant thy demand," the sovereign said: 

"Sure thine is some lofty desire." 
" But meat and drink for a year," he replied. 

" Faith !" cried Arthur, " a valiant squire ! 
So strong as thou seemest, why askest not 

For knighthood, armor, or steed ? 
Such hand as thine could Excalibur wield; 

And is food thine uttermost need?" 



176 BEAUMATNS' vo^y. 

" 'Tis all I now wish : for mine other boons 

I will sue at next Whitsuntide." 
And the knights all sneer'd, as they broke their fast, 

"More size has the varlet than pride." 
Sir Kaj^e, the steward, in mocking despite, 

Gave him place where the lackeys ate ; 
And only Sir Gawaine and Launcelot swore 

That his mien was of nobler state. 

The twain were right ; for when Arthur again 

The Pentecost holyday kept, 
"When adventure rare claim'd the bravest heart, 

'Twas this Beaumains forward stept, 
And boldly implored two boons of the king. 

The first was this perilous quest ; 
And then that Sir Launcelot should dub him knight. 

Quoth Sir Launcelot, " Not without test." 

From the palace forth went the royal chief. 

With his mail'd and warrior train. 
To witness Sir Launcelot and Beaumains try 

A tilt on the tournament-plain. 
Short joust did they hold ; for the far-famed knight 

Had sore work to keep him unshamed. 
" 'Twas right gallantly fought," said the king and 
lords. 

As the stranger the promise claim'd. 

Then, spurr'd and belted, he mounted his horse. 
With Sir Launcelot's sword on his thigh ; 



THE KING AND THE BARD. 177 

For Sir Launcelot Icarn'd, ere the accolade, 

His name, kin, and lineage high. 
And little the haughty Sir Gawaine deem'd, 

As Sir Gareth rode proudly away, 
That his brother had kept a vow unbroke 

At court for a year and a day. 



THE KING AND THE BARD. 

"Come, sing us a lay !" quoth Arthur, 

" My Bard of the Table Bound ! 
Some ballad of lofty courage, 

That shall make our heart's-blood bound !' 
And the monarch drain'd his goblet, 

While the minstrel tuned his lyre, 
And fill'd it again, that the singer 

Might win from wine new fire. 

" Now drink," said the generous sovereign, 

" That, when thy song shall be o'er. 
We may fill with bright gold pieces 

And hand thee the cup once more." 
But the minstrel's voice was silent, 

And the ruby wine undrain'd. 
While Arthur, impatient, wondered 

Why the guerdon was not gain'd". 

12 



178 THE KING AND THE BARD. 

Tlie bard from his seat rose slowly, 

And spoke to the waiting king : 
*' Sire, to-day my soul is tuneless, 

And no worthy lay can sing. 
Not e'en for your tempting liquor, 

Not e'en for your promised gold, 
Will my inner voice yield music ; 

For true song cannot be sold I 

" But when fitting words can utter 

Dreams that stir my own deep heart, 
In thine shall the chords re-echo, 

Till it feels of mine a part. 
Not till inspiration smiteth 

On the rock of silent Thought, 
Can be welcome living waters 

To the king or people brought V 

" Thou art right \" the sovereign answer'd 

'* 'Tis a lesson nobly told : 
Monarchs cannot rule men's spirits 

By the might of law or gold ! 
Thou art first of all my minstrels, 

Thou art best of Britain's boast ; 
But take now my brimming goblet. 

And quaif it to Arthur's toast. 

" Drink, gallant knights, to the minstrel 
Who dreads neither prince nor peer,— 

Who can speak the truth to power, 
Nor flatters for price or fear, — 



TIIK LOVE-DRINK. 179 

To the bard who freely renders 

The gift he has been given, 
And sings but when his strain exalts 

His hearers nicher heaven !" 



THE LOVE-DRINK. 



King Marke of Cornwall sent Sir Tristan forth, 
With goodly company in grand array, 
On embassy to Anguish, Ireland's king ; 
That there his nephew's eloquence might move 
The father's heart to give his daughter's hand ; 
For Marke had heard the minstrels sing of her, 
La Belle Isonde, until his throne had seem'd 
Empty without a queen, and listen'd then 
His people's murmuring that he did not wed ; 
And so he chose the princess for his bride. 

But on the way Sir Tristan met a lord, 
With many peers, that in the name of might 
Truage of Cornwall did demand with swords ! 
And Tristan slew him, but did get himself 
Such serious hurt, that those about him pray'd 
For his soul's rest, and begg'd him but to stay 
His journey's progress till his wound was heal'd. 
But the brave knight bound up his gaping side, 
And bade them onward : — " Duty could not wait 



180 THE LOVE-DRINK. 

Because a man should bleed ! He will'd to live 

Until his errand was all done, and then — 

Why, God's good pleasure should hear his Amen !" 

And so he came at last to Ireland's court, 
And in the audience-hall, before the throne, 
Stood pale and leaning on his sheathed sword. 
And told his message to the king and queen, 
Fainting, in ending, at the princess' feet. 
Whose tender eyes dropp'd tears amid the blood 
That gush'd afresh, as trembling she essay'd 
To quench its flowing with her own warm scarf; 
And, as she was well skill'd in surgery's art. 
They gave him to her charge to try his cure. 
And long she wrestled with the angel Death, 
Conquering through prayer, and won him back to 

life. 
And Tristan watch'd her from his couch, and wish'd 
He might be ill forever, thus to keep 
So fair a picture always in his sight ! 
And she would do for him, with quiet grace. 
All offices that only women can, 
When, smote by sickness, men will humbly lean 
On the strong tenderness that never fails ! 
The little hand smooth'd pillows for his head, 
Bathed his hot brow, and dress'd his healing wound. 
And. when he seem'd to slumber mid his pain, 
Plied silken threads to aid her silent watch. 
And if sometimes it met his own, ^twas but 
The leech's touch to learn the fever's height. 



THE LOVE-DRINK. 181 

And all about, within her was such sense 

Of maiden purity, that Tristan ne'er. 

Even by thought of passion, would have stirr'd 

Th' unconscious calm of that white, virgin breast! 

So day by day he grew to perfect health, 

And, sitting by her in the summer morns, 

He taught her how to tune the lute, and sang 

Old ditties, mostly battle-songs, or lays 

Of sunny France, the harvest-hymns, or plaints 

Of captive slaves, — but never sang of love ! 

And if her changing cheek did flush and pale, 

And her heart throb, she knew 'twas but the tunes, 

The music shaking all her inner soul ; 

And if she did not laugh as she was wont. 

But from the castle-terrace gazed long hours 

Toward distant Cornwall, all her maids would say, 

" She's sad because she leaves us : this quick change 

From home to husband weighs her spirits down. 

She wonders if he'll love her like her sire ! 

He must be noble, since the knights he sent 

Are gentle, and his herald like a king. 

She's worn with watching. Sure her lord may count 

Upon the goodness that did patient nurse 

The proxy for his sake will call her queen !" 

And so they gossip'd on her alter'd ways. 

And — for they knew her all her girlhood up — 

Did never link her name, by sneer or hint, 

In thought or speech, with aught that was not true. 



182 THE LOVE-DRINK. 

And thus, with this fine honor in them both, 

That knew her pledged, they kept them safe through 

all; 
And if perchance o'er Tristan's soul would come 
A sudden tempting, when she stept anear, 
To seize her in his arms, and kiss her eyes, 
Mouth, hands, once strain Iier to his heart, and then 
Tear open his old wound, and pitied die. 
He sternly fought it down, and school'd his thought 
To say, unshrinkingly, " My uncle's wife !" 

And when their ship was ready, all the court 
Did bear her company to the water's edge, 
And the whole country mourn'd to see her go. 
She wept to know how she was loved, — to leave 
Her childhood's happy home for stranger roof, — 
To see no more, perchance, the early friends 
That fiU'd her memory ; and all sights and sounds 
Seem'd but to make her sadder as she went, 
Until she look'd on Tristan, and her heart 
Took a sweet sense of something undefined. 
That made her think but of the voj^age with him, 
Forgetful of the king would crown its end ! 
And, ere they sail'd, her mother gave in charge 
Secretly to Governale, Sir Tristan's squire, 
A golden flask full of enchanted wine, 
That, on the day when they should wed, King Marke 
And her Isonde should drink the same, and so 
Either should other love through all their life, 
And find expression by its potent spell. 



THE LOVE-DllINK. 183 

The August days were languid on the sea ; 

The vessel linger'd on the glassy calm 

Of heaveless waves ; and, as they silent sate, 

Watching from cabin-window a lone bird 

Skimming the surface of the waters blue, 

Then, more to break the stillness than from need, 

Isonde did murmur that she was athirst ; 

And Tristan rose to search for welcome draught. 

And came back, smiling, with a golden flask, 

And told her how lie found it in the case 

Where Governale did keep his master's helm ; 

And so — for such rare liquor fitted not 

For lackey's palate, howsoe'er or why 

He got and kept it — Tristan pour'd the wine. 

And gave the goblet to the ladye's taste, 

Who drank it, saying she would pay instead 

To the sly squire a good broad piece or two. 

And, partly that the odor was so rich, 

And partly that his mouth might touch the rim 

Whereon her dewy lip had press'd, he too 

Drain'd from the goblet love's o'ervvhelming power. 

For, sitting at her feet, with sudden thrill, 
Their long-averted looks did meet at last, 
As, scarcely heeding, stole his eager hand 
Anear to hers, that trembled to his palm. 
The while his other arm about her form 
Bow'd down her blushing face towards his own. 
Love compass'd them with circumstance; for them 
The sea., the sky, were not, nor aught but love. 



184 THE BEST KNIGHT. 

In that enraptured space when scarce time seem'd 

To move, so fast th' unnoted moments flew. 

The world was in the circle of their arms, 

And their souls mingled in the speechless bliss 

That almost grows to pain, and floods the eyes 

With causeless tears that break the lofty spell 

Of love's pure exaltation, lest the breath 

Of the divine in man should waft his soul 

So far towards the source that he should pierce 

The mysteries of God's secret Paradise. 

And, as her bright drops. rain'd upon his brow, 

He snatch 'd her to his heart, and broken words 

Restored them unto life, — " Tristan !" " Isonde V — 

And one long kiss seal'd their eternal troth ! 



THE BEST KNIGHT. 



For a great tilt the lists were all array'd ; 
And in the gallery, beside the queen, 
Truncheon in hand, the crown upon his head. 
King Arthur sat, the umpire of the joust ; 
And back and forth upon th' allotted sward 
Arm'd knights upon arm'd steeds rode swift and 

slow. 
To try their chargers' mettle, or to gain 
From ladies' eyes some longed-for, envied glance ; 
For each upon his helmet token wore 



THE BEST KNIGHT. 185 

Of favor won or hoped through gallant deeds ; 
And there were whisj)erings round the throne, from 

lips 
Dewy and red, that soon might pale with fear. 
Which made the queen smile slyly to her lord. 

But, while all waited for the signal trump. 
Mid wondering looks, a litter forward came. 
Whereon a sick man lay, and at whose side 
An aged dame walk'd with a weary step, 
And paused before the king, at whose command 
The ladye told her story and her quest. 
" From Hungary, sire, the last of many sons 
To Spanish tournament went bravely forth. 
Strong with rare strength and confident with youth, 
And there opposed the proudest knight of Sj^ain, 
And, ere he slew him, got these seven wounds. 
See, sire, how still they bleed I" And Guinevere 
Shut from her shuddering sight the crimson drops 
That stain'd the matted hair and broider'd quilt, 
While Arthur question'd why the wounds were fresh. 
"The mother of Sir Alphegus that died 
Was a great sorceress, of subtle craft ; 
And, for her grief was much — God mend her pain ! 
I would have done the same had I been she 
That saw my dear son dead, and had her power ! — 
She wrought by secret arts her vengeance thus : 
Sir Urro should ne'er be well of these deep cuts 
Until the world's best knight had search'd his 
wounds. 



186 THE BEST KNIGHT. 

And so, to have him heal'd, for seven years 

We two have pass'd through all the Christian lands. 

Our last hope is in this : if here we fail, 

We will go home again, and pray for death \" 

And, ere the king could answer, Guinevere — 

Who liked no tilt where Launcelot did not ride. 

And trembled always at the blows and groans — 

Out of her woman's heart, with woman's wit. 

Urged that the joust might be postponed a day, 

And all the knights prove value on this test, — 

A surer trial than with shields and swords. 

And more to England's honor, if perchance 

The best knight in the world graced Arthur's court ! 

And Arthur laid the sceptre in her hand. 

And said, " Well, be it so ! myself the first — 

Not thus presuming on my own poor worth, 

But to encourage others to the same — 

Will touch for this sore evil ; and Grod help 

The patient mother to her son's good weal !" 

And so the king, — the brave king, — high in heart 

And pure in soul, and noble through grand thoughts, 

Gently essay'd to close the gaping wounds. 

That bled the more for handling, and grew worse, 

Till Arthur said, — a sadness in his eyes, — 

" Some flaw is in mine acts : some better man 

Must wear the name not Britain's king can boast \" 

And, rising, took his ermined mantle off 

And laid it on the shoulders of the dame. 

Who shiver' d in the fresh spring air that bore 

The faint, sweet fragrance of some meadow near. 



THE BEST KNIGHT. 187 

And one by one they came, princes and dukes, 
Knights of the Table Bound, all famed and tried : 
Of the hundred and fifty, ten were gone 
Upon their own adventures far from court. 
And all the while, with each attempt that fail'd, 
The queen had thought of Launcelot, and her heart 
Had murmur'd o'er, " The best in all the world ! 
This honor is for him ! Why comes he not V 
For he had sent her private word that morn, 
Thougji he could not be back in time to tilt. 
He would be there ere night, to tread with her' 
One measure ere he dream'd of her last smile. 

And now the shades were lengthening on the plain ; 
Sir Urre grew faint with bleeding, and the knights 
That still remain'd untested were but few. 
And Guinevere impatient watch'd the scene. 
Pale with expectance, anxious with one hope, 
Till the last trial left the wounds agape. 
And the poor mother bow'd her wither'd face 
Upon her son's well hand, and sobb'd with grief; 
While all the men look'd silent on, and felt 
A sort of pain and shame to see her weep. 

Then, as the queen still strain'd her waiting sight, 
Her heart's great throb was echoed by a shout, 
That gladly broke the stillness with one name ; 
And, as Sir Launcelot rode within the lists. 
The sceptre roll'd from out her nerveless hand 
Upon the earth, close to King Arthur's foot. 



188 THE BEST KNIGHT. 

Who gently said, — nor meant his words to sting, 

Haply unconscious of her conscious ill, — 

" You hold your royalty but light, my queen ! 

See how my sceptre is dust-sullied now. 

And nigh to blood ! I will take back the charge 

Those white, small hands were all too weak to 

hold. " 
And, as he knelt in homage, Launcelot deem'd 
The blush upon her cheek his welcome back. 

And then the sovereign told him of the test. 

Bidding him do as all the rest had done ; 

But the bold knight shrank back, and humbly 

spoke, 
" My monarch, bid me wield my sword or lance 
In equal combat, or 'gainst fearful odds. 
And not one foot of ground my foot will yield. 
Till bravest prowess wins the battle's end ! 
But ask me not to try so high a deed 
Where all these lords have failed ! Though I be 

strong 
Against my foes, I am but weak 'gainst sin ; 
For strength is fortune's accident, but worth 
Lies in a man's own soul ! And what am I, 
That I should work a miracle like Christ ? 
I am not worthy, sire !" 

But here there broke 
Upon his words the mother's weeping voice. 
That plead, for her dear sake who gave him birth, 
He yet would grant her hope this one chance more. 



THE BEST KNIGHT. 189 

And Launcelot could not bear a woman's tears, 

But knelt beside the couch, and bow'd his head. 

Saying thus secretly in his own heart : 

" Blessed Trinity, I do beseech 

Of Thy great mercy, work this grace through me ; 

Use me for good, that never of myself 

May dare to heal another soul's sore ill, 

But trust in Thy great power and my faith !" 

And here he touch'd the wounds, that sudden 

.closed 
Beneath his hand to hurtless scars, that seemVl 
As though they had been well for seven years ! 
And as the happy mother kiss'd his cheek, 
And Arthur liaiFd him best knight in the world, 
iSir Launcelot brush'd aside a sparkling tear. 
And Urre of Hungary leap'd from off his couch. 
And wound his arm about his healer's neck. 
And vow'd to serve him through the life he gave ; 
While, from the very fulness of her joy. 
The queen could keep her still no more, but ask'd, 
In playful tone, " What spell Sir Launcelot used ? 
What magic unto stouter knights unknown ?" 
And Launcelot simply said, " I pray'd to Grod 1" 



190 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

When Merlin's wisdom for the king ordain'd 

The Table Round in likeness of the world, 

He placed therein the sieges for each knight 

Should sit thereat, and prophesied that one 

Who there broke bread the Sancgreal should achieve, 

Should win the holy vessel that contain'd 

The Saviour's blessed blood, that had been brought 

To this far land, after that Christ had died, 

By Joseph who had given Him his tomb, 

And hid away from common sight of men, 

Till he should come so worthy of this grace 

That all would say but One e'er lived before 

As pure from evil and so brave in deed. 

And Merlin made a siege where he might sit. 

And call'd the name of it " Siege Perilous," 

Marking it next to Launcelot's at the board. 

And giving signs should show fulfilment near. 

So, ever at the feasts King Arthur held. 
They look'd to see a token of the time ; 
And more than once, elated by good cheer. 
Some gallant sir essay'd that empty seat. 
But none e'er sat therein but got a hurt ; 
And years went by, but still the mystic siege 
Waited the coming guest for whom was laid 
Trencher and goblet as for all the rest. 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 191 

At Pentecost 'twas custom of the king 

To know adventure ere they went to meat ; 

So, as they whiled away the Lagging hours, 

One Whitsuntide, upon the river's bank 

That runs to Camelot, a marvel came. 

For, lo ! a great stone floated down the stream, 

Wherein was upright stuck a fixir, rich sword, 

And golden letters in the marble taught 

The best knight in the world to take it thence. 

Then unto Launcelot spoke the courteous king, 

" Brave sir, the blade is yours !" But Launcelot said, 

" Not so, my liege : the best knight in the world. 

You do forget, is he shall sit unharm'd 

Beside me at the feast ! And he that strives 

To take that sword and fails shall get a wound 

Full sore to heal ; for, see, its name is writ 

In precious stones upon the shining hilt." 

And Arthur read, in rays of diamond light. 

The one word "Justice," while Sir Gawaine strove, 

And then Sir Percivale, to stir the sword ; 

But both their hands upon the weapon slipp'd, 

And stain'd its edge with blood, until the prince 

Forbade endeavor more. '* For thus," he said, 

" My own Excalibur defied all strength. 

Until my destined grasp the handle seized. 

This too is fix'd by Fate, and he shall wield 

Its keenness rightly will be worthy sure 

To have us bow our heads to him. And now 

Let's in to dine, and toast our unknown peer !" 



192 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

And, ere each lord was served in his own place, 

Came in an aged man, clothed all in white, 

And with him a young knight in crimson robed, 

Upon whose shoulders hung a mantle furr'd 

With royal ermine, — whose beardless visage bore 

The smile of innocence, uplifted, calm 

With the mild majesty of one who knows 

None greater than his equal, yet who feels 

His own soul humble in the sight of God. 

And silent round the watching forms they walk'd 

Until the elder hfted off the cloth 

Laid o'er " Siege Perilous," wherein was writ, 

In letters bright as stars, that all could see. 

The name of "Galahad ;" and that young knight 

Sat down therein, and show'd no sign of harm, 

The while his comrade bless'd him and went forth. 

Then bow'd the king to him, and all the knights 

Rose up, and gave him welcome with their hands ; 

And, after they had dined, the monarch spoke : 

" Fair sir, I see the scabbard at thy side 

Does lack a sword. Without, a marvel waits: 

Wouldst win a weapon, and thy rare right prove 

To fill that siege ? for prophesy has rank'd 

Him * best knight in the world' should sit therein ; 

And so a stone proclaims that he shall take 

The blade therefrom shall bear the same proud 

fame V 
Then Galahad and Arthur, side by side, 
Went from the palace to the river's bank, 
Where in his hand with ease the stranger held 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 193 

The trial-sword, and slid it in the case 

So smoothly that the good king, wondering, said, 

" Surely those two were for each other made !" 

And after jousting in the meadow's midst, 

Whereat Sir Galahad exceeded all. 

The court rode quiet back to Camelot ; 

And, as they sat at supper in a maze 

Of listening wonder at this young knight's words, 

A sudden thunder crash'd across his speech. 

And shook the pillars of the hall ; and sounds 

Of rushing wings stirr'd through the darkness deep 

That rested there an instant ; when a light 

Six times more clear than beams of noontide sun 

Shone o'er them all, and glorified each face. 

So that they all upon their neighbors look'd. 

Struck dumb with awe, as through the silence rose 

Angelic voices ; then an odor rich 

Fill'd all their senses, and the taste of each 

Knew that was long'd for most and liked the best ; 

While every soul felt such ecstatic joy 

That love's great bliss seem'd but the barren type 

Of this exceeding rapture ; and then came 

Their breath once more, and all things look'd the 

same. 
Then whisper'd they into each other's ears 
That there had been the Holy Greal of Christ ; 
Till Gawaine spoke aloud, and took a vow 
That, as its blessing came in part to all, 
Though fate ordain'd but one should full}'' win 
13 



194 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

The dangerous quest, that, just to know again 
Such rare, high feeling, he would seek himself 
The Sacred Vessel, which jDerchance if seen, 
Its power might waft his soul so far from earth 
That it might float into the gate of heaven, 
Since but its unseen presence made them seem 
Like olden gods at their ambrosial feasts !" 
Then rose they all, and with uplifted hands 
Echoed Sir Gawaine's oath ; and Arthur said, 
" This promise smites my heart ; for I do know 
Such quest will rob me of my dearest friends, 
And break the knightly fellowship we keep 
So fair and true that all the world admires. 
For never king has had such gallant peers ; 
And never more shall gather at my board 
All those who leave me to my sorrow here ! 
For kings must fret on thrones, while crownless 

heads 
Find Glory's laurel upon danger's field \" 

And when the lords had arm'd themselves, they met 

In the great court-yard, waiting by their steeds 

Until the king had brought the weeping queen 

To give their last farewell ; and as the sun, 

Slow sinking, cast o'er all a golden light, 

They stood upon the palace-steps, both clad 

In sparkling jewels and their royal robes; 

And as, unhelmetted, with gauntlets off. 

The knights came singly by to kiss their hands, 

The quick sobs broke from Guinevere's fair breast, 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 195 

And more than once the sliining drops fell down 
On some bow'd head ; while Arthur, pale and sad, 
Would take no homage, but with tender clasp 
Press'd each to his full heart, and no one spoke. 
And when at last Sir Launcelot came anear. 
And held the ladye's palm within his own, 
She sank, half fainting, on her husband's arm. 
So Galahad but touch'd his maiden lips 
To fingers cold as ice, that listless hung, 
As we<^ried of the weight of their rich rings. 
At last, when crested helmets were all donn'd 
And bow'd in parting to the horses' manes. 
The knights together through the gatewaj^ rode: 
And Arthur watch'd them as their mail'd array 
Wound down the path, until on burnish'd shields 
The sun's last lingering rays no longer glanced, 
Then with a sigh bore in the drooping queen. 
And there was weeping of the rich and poor 
As through the streets of Camelot they rode, 
Where many a dame, with voice nigh choked with 

tears. 
Did send her prayers with that gay cavalcade ; 
While ever and anon would leave the ranks 
A favor'd sir, to catch upon his lance 
Some scarf or token of* his lady's grace. 
Cast off from balconies where fair forms lean'd. 
And so they journey'd to a castle's gates 
Wherein the lord made cheer, till in the morn 
They parted from each other, and all took. 
In pairs or singly, their own different roads. 



196 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

When many days had gone, Sir Gawaine met 

Sir Ector in the way, and both reveal'd 

That, after wandering long in beaten paths, 

Neither had found adventure that had seem'd 

To bring them nearer to the Holy Grreal. 

" In sooth," quoth Gawaine, *' I am weary now 

Of this new quest, and loath to follow it." 

" And so," said Ector, " all the knights I saw 

Upon my travels do complain the same. 

Nor can I hear of Launcelot or Bors, 

Or e'en of Galahad, the three we thought 

Were sure to make the world ring with their deeds ; 

And truly, if they fail, not even we 

Need strive in further search ! Let's stop and rest." 

And so they enter'd in an ancient church 

That stood near by, and laid their bodies down 

Upon the altar-steps, and thus there came 

Into their sleep a marvellous dream to each. 

First, Gawaine thought he saw into a field 

Full strewn with herbs, wherein a rack of bulls 

Stood proud and black, save one, all snowy white, 

That ever kept its head bent down to graze ; 

But soon the rest went from the meadow forth, 

To seek some pasture-ground they deem'd more 

rich. 
And came back lean and weak, yet would not crop 
The fresh, green grass their one wise comrade ate 
And strove to lead them to and fully share ! 
But Ector dream'd that Launcelot and himself 
Sprang from one chair upon two saddled steeds ; 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 197 

That one soon met Sir Launcelot on the v/ay, 
Who boat and spoil'd him, and then clothed him 

o'er 
In knotted robes, and set him on an ass ; 
That tlius he rode until he came, athirst, 
To a fair well, and stoop'd him down to drink ; 
But always from his lips the waters sank, 
Until at last he sadly journey'd on. 
And when the knights awoke, they told their 

. dreams, 
And, as they talk'd, between them sudden rushM, 
Vanishing quick away, a hand that held 
A clear light burning, and upon the wrist 
A plain, strong bridle hung ; and then they rose 
To seek some hermit who could meaning give 
To these their visions. 

Ere they came anigh 
To the lone cave where dwelt the holiest man 
In all the realm, they met an armed knight, 
Who kept the road, and so they drew a lot 
To joust with him to have their pathway clear; 
And Gawaine won, and ran his sharp lance through 
The stranger's breast, and bore him to the ground. 
And when they raised his visor, Ector groan/d ; 
" For see," he spoke, "thy hasty hand has slain 
Our own sworn brother of the Table Eound, 
That with ourselves set out on this same quest." 
" 'Tis sad," his comrade said ; " but then- he stood 
So stubborn in our way : besides, his course 
Was towards the points we just have left behind ; 



198 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

Thus turn'd, he never could have reach'd the goal !" 
And, as his soul def)arted, they went on. 

Then, as they came unto the mountain rough. 

They tied their coursers to a rock, and strode 

Across the stones afoot, until they reach'd 

A garden-patch, wherein a hermit stoop'd 

To pick the worts that served for his sole food. 

And when he heard the ringing of their mail, 

He turn'd his aged form and ask'd their need. 

So Gawaine told his dream, and counsel ask'd 

Of his great wisdom ; and, without more words, 

He answer'd thus: " The herbs that strew'd the field 

Were Patience and Humility ; the rack 

Was the Round Table, and the bulls its knights ; 

The meadow was the world, and that white steer 

Was he shall keep himself so pure in life 

His eyes shall see the glory of the Lord ! 

Those black were dyed with sins; and, as their heads 

Would stoop not down to taste the precious food, 

They shall on waste lands enter, and find death V 

And as Sir Gawaine ponder'd on this speech, 

The good seer read Sir Ector's vision too : 

" The chair ye left was pride, and, as your steeds 

Were higher, ye were so much prouder there. 

Sir Launcelot has been cast adown, and clothed 

In garments of repentance, and the ass 

Betokeneth meekness ; but that fair well 

Was God's rich grace, that would not touch his soul: 

So now he journeys lonely on his way, 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 109 

Till in due time he shall go back, and quench 

His eager thirst within those waters clear. 

The hand ye saw was charity ; the light 

Was hope ; the bridle, abstinence, which holds 

The heart's desires and leads the will from sin. 

And as ye were not touch'd by charity. 

Nor long time lit by hope, and have not caught 

The reins of passion, and not yet have chew'd 

The cud of Patience, ye shall never meet 

The Holy Greal until ye win all these. 

Now go your ways ! Ye neither yet have done 

True service to your Maker. As ye gave 

To folly all the leaves and fruit of youth. 

See that ye yield the bare rind to the Lord." 

And then he went from them into his cave ; 

And both the knights, with eyes bent low, slow 

paced, 
Deep musing, down the stony steep, and loosed 
Their restless horses, and rode swift away. 

And all the peers that started on the quest 
Met strange adventures, and some got sore falls, 
Some fainted by the way, and many died. 
And some went back to Camelot, and lived 
In sloth and ease with lemans fair and false ; 
But these King Arthur would not see at court, 
For, though he grieved at parting with his fr^res, 
He welcomed none that broke a knightly oath ; 
Albeit the queen in secret saw them oft, 
To ask if e'er they heard of Launcelot aught. 



200 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

Sir Galahad, the youngest of the knights, 

A stranger, and unproved in gallant feats, 

Eode by himself four days without a shield : 

His heart was tender yet with dreams of youth. 

And, as his life was nearer to his birth, 

His soul was closer to his God than theirs 

Who had forgotten heaven in the heat 

Of earthly conflicts mid the light of fame. 

He look'd on nature with such earnest love 

His rapturous delight to worship soar'd. 

His eyes grew gentler as he turn'd aside 

His courser's hoofs lest they should heedless tread 

To dust and death a daisy in the grass ; 

And when, unarm'd, he slept in some cool grove 

At night beside his weary steed, the stars 

Shed down through stirring leaves a sense of jDeace 

Upon a spirit calm'd by trustful prayer. 

He knew no fear, because his conscience lay 

Like to a lake reflecting cloudless skies : 

Not one dark thing o'ershadow'd its bright rest. 

And if his mind dwelt oft on that high fate 

The seers foretold for him, 'twas with the hope 

That his achievements might advance the cause 

Of Eight and Holiness within the world 

He thought so fair, yet knew was foul'd by sin ! 

Once, after even-song, he came at last 
To a white abbey, where he met a knight 
Of Arthur's table, who reveal'd to him 
That in this place was hung a wondrous shield, 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 201 

Which none e'er bore in fight and kept unscathed. 

"And yet," said Bagdemanus, " I will try, 

Because my arm is strong, and sure can keep 

By its own skill a shield before my breast !" 

So in the morn he took it from its jDlace 

Behind the altar, and his comrade saw 

'Twas all clear white, save in the midst was limn'd 

A shining cross, red as if drawn in blood. 

And then he started on adventure forth. 

But, ere an hour, in haste his squire came back. 

Pale with the tidings that his master lay 

O'erthrown near by, and still beset by foes ! 

And Galahad went out with his bare sword 

To where the wounded knight exhausted fell. 

He seized the buckler from the feeble grasp. 

And straightw^ay was assail'd by countless shapes, 

Giants and dwarfs, and bravely stood his ground, 

Until at last he felt the storied shield 

Slow slipping from his hold, while they who thrust 

Their sj^ears against it but the stronger grew 

When he look'd faint : so his tried soul cried out 

Aloud in anguish for God's gracious help ; 

And at the sacred Name they sudden sank 

From his awed sight away ; and then he saw 

That a great angel, ray'd about with light. 

Upheld his form, who bade him always use 

The shield of Faith, since wielded with true Prayer 

'Twould keep him ever from attacks of Doubts I 

And afterwards, as Galahad went on, 



202 THE QUEST OF TPIE SANCGREAL. 

He journey'd in a narrow path o'ergrown 
With thorns and briers, where he oft was forced 
To cut a way and lead his restless horse, — 
Where poisonous vines with noxious smells made 

thick 
The darken'd air, for branches interlaced 
Barr'd light and progress, and from hidden lairs 
Glared fiery eyes at him, and stagnant pools 
Mock'd eager thirst. Yet still he onward toil'd ; 
For this, the monks had told him, was the road 
Alone could forward him upon his quest. 
Sometimes he long'd to throw aside his arms 
And rest his weary limbs ; but evermore 
He saw some work to do, some goal to win 
That brought him nearer to the end, nor dared 
To slumber, lest he should be stung to death 
By creeping creatures, or waste precious hours. 
And, as he had such patience for himself, 
He felt deep pity for his faithful steed, 
And talk'd to him as tenderly as though 
It were a woman that was hurt and worn, — 
Oft stopping in his labor to smooth down 
The ruffled mane, drawing the drooping head 
Across his shoulder, and with gentle touch 
Stroking the face, until the startled eyes 
Grew wistful with a dumb, beseechful love ; 
And sometimes he would dip his shrinking hand 
Into the slimy waters of black tarns. 
To wet the bleeding limbs and panting sides. 
And so at last they came unto a break 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 203 

In one side of the road, where grandly stood 

A lofty castle with wide-open gates ; 

And, more because his courser was so maim'd 

Than that himself was tempted at the sight, 

He enter'd there, and in the outer court 

A damsel met, who led his tired steed 

To a clean manger stored with straw and food, 

The while across his senses faintly fell 

Soft breezes of perfume, that wafted by 

Delicious melodies, and drew him on 

Through the broad portal to a hall, wherein 

The only Presence was a leaping fount. 

And, as his footsteps waken'd echoes there, 

A hidden door flew wide, through which there 

danced 
A troop of mirthful girls, with sandall'd feet, 
To cadences of their own mellow strain. 
In which their laughter mingled like the tone 
Of silvery chorus threading all the tune. 
And, as they forward floated where he stood 
Entranced an instant by such lustrous eyes, 
Their gauzy robes and loosen 'd hair flew back, 
And white, soft arms uncurved their wreathing grace 
To stretch out rosy palms to meet his own ; 
He felt e'en through the links of his rough mail 
The thrills of each light touch, as, group'd around. 
They sang a song of greeting that ran thus : — 

Enter in from toil and danger ! 
Ended here thy weary quest! 



204 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

Now, no more to ease a stranger, 
Thou shalt find reward and rest ! 

Love the Sancgreal ! Love the blest ! 
Love's own heaven ! it is here ! 

Hail ! all hail ! Love's happy guest, 
Welcome here ! welcome here ! 

Love shall fill thy soul with pleasure ! 

Love the Sancgreal ! Love the dream ! 
Weaving joys for endless leisure, 

Years will but like moments seem ! 
Love the Sancgreal ! Love the blest ! 

Love's, own heaven ! it is here ! 
Hail ! all hail ! Love's happy guest, 

Welcome here ! welcome here ! 

While their bewildering voices fill'd his ear, 
Their lithe, fair forms his sight, he, heedless then 
Of aught beside, believed their siren words, 
And willing follow 'd them to fresh surprise. 
For, lo ! a chamber flooded with a light 
Glowing in color without shade or glare, 
Wherein were downy couches, spread with stuffs 
Of gorgeous dyes deep fringed about with gold, 
And poised between rich vases of all flowers 
Can thrall the sense with fragrance and bright hues : 
And in their midst a table heap'd with fruits 
Luscious and ripe, nigh bursting with their juice, 
'Mong dainty goblets sparkling with rare wine. 
Whose fumes amid the scent of blossoms rose. 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 205 

Like flames through incense, m<aking warm his 

blood. 
Athirst and hunger'd, wearied out and worn, 
Sir Galahad sat not while women stood. 
But lean'd with one arm on the board, while they 
Gave ready service to allure his taste : 
One brought him clusters of the purple grape, 
One pour'd its amber essence, as a third 
Stripp'd down the golden orange-rinds, 
Or peel'd with jewell'd knife the rosy skin 
Of mellow apples ; while another broke 
The brown stems from crisp, russet pears; he craved 
The meat borne in upon its silver dish, 
And once his hand crept towards the foaming cups ; 
But something — either instinct in himself, 
Or whisper of an unseen spirit near — 
E'er warned him from them all, he knew not why : 
So, with cool head and even pulse, he touch 'd 
No food but simple bread ; and as he drain 'd 
Long draughts of water, while the damsels stared, 
One quickly enter'd in their midst, who shone 
Among the rest as might the noonday sun 
Circled with twinkling stars ; and Galahad 
Thought for an instant that a minstrel's dream 
Had taken shape, to thrill his throbbing heart 
With timid wonder that aught out of heaven 
Could be so fair. Form, face, voice, movement, dress, 
Were all in harmony; and as she stood 
Before him, with her vein'd lids droojo'd adown, 
Giving him welcome in her low, sweet tones, 



206 THE QUEST OP THE SANCGREAL. 

There rush'd across his soul that one wild wave 
Which whelms a proud man's reason, and makes 

weak 
Earth's strongest Samsons. Suddenly he felt 
How lone his life had been, how incomplete, 
Half lived, divided as a perfect whole, 
Ne'er to be rounded to entireness more 
Until his being should absorb and blend 
With this one woman's. Love, thus born full-grown, 
The spirit's mystic Sancgreal seem'd indeed 
That he sought outward sign of! 

Days went by 
As in a vision ; hour in hour roll'd, 
Till gliding time like flowing stream swept off 
Th' unnoted marks of night and morn that show'd 
Its course, and bore his life on rapid waves ; 
A helmless bark cast loose on unknown depths. 
He kept mid luxury his simple ways, 
Slept not on downy couches, drank no wine, 
Wore still his sword and shield, as though might 

come 
Some unexpected foe e'en to those halls ; 
He would not yield to sloth, or fire his blood, 
For fear the fallen nature in his flesh 
Should sully, e'en in thought, the image pure 
He shrined for worship in his inmost soul. 
Daily he touch'd her hand, sat at her feet. 
Watching the changing beauty of her face ; 
Jlis jealous envy mark'd when perfumed breeze 
Lifted her golden hair ; and if he felt 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCQREAL. 207 

His breath come quick and fast, his youthful blood 

Itushiug in quicken'd beats, he stole away 

To fight his passion till his lips could touch 

Her garment's hem as if it were a saint's ! 

But once, as wearied of such homage high, 

She threw aside the long restraint was worn 

To win upon his nobleness, and deem'd 

Her art had guided him, by slow degrees. 

To point of her desire. Athwart his heart 

A sharp pain like an arrow shot ; a veil 

Dropp'd from his charm'd sight ; his bright dreams 

died! 
Gravely and sadly he removed the arms 
That clung about him, casting one last look 
Of keen reproach upon the angry face. 
Then rose and strode away with rapid steps, 
Lest he should pause, and turn to love and sin and 

shame. 
He found his waiting steed, and swiftly rode 
Into the narrow way so full of thorns, 
Oft hiding mid the briers, holding fast 
His courser's mouth, lest he should gladly neigh 
When groups of nymphs pass'd by in fruitless search. 
He knew the Sancgreal must be farther on, 
And took no heed of toil and danger now. 
His soul was heavy with its broken tvust ; 
And when he saw the idol he had rear'd 
Upon his fancies of pure womanhood 
Lie shatter'd by a breath, his sorrow left 
His life no other aim save his old quest. 



208 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

Anon Sir Launcelot, after striving long, 

Did see on shore, while sailing on the sea, 

A stately castle, and across the waves 

A clear voice bade him enter there and find 

Some part of his desire. He left the ship ; 

And, as he near'd the gates, he drew his sword, 

Because of two fierce lions station'd close ; 

But something smote him sore upon the arm. 

So that his weapon dropp'd ; while the same tone 

Accused his little faith, that trusted less 

His Maker than his steel ; then on his brow 

He sign'd the cross, and harmless pass'd the beasts. 

That crouch'd in homage. All the doors were wide 

Of all the rooms, save one, whence music came ; 

And, as he vainly tried to stir its lock. 

There stole across his soul the same deep sense 

Of matchless joy had fill'd his peers that day 

They took their oath to seek for it again. 

Then on the threshold knelt Sir Launcelot down, 

For well he wist the Sancgreal was within, 

Praying, if ever he had pleased the Lord, 

In spite of all his sins, that he might view 

The holy thing he sought ! And, lo ! the door 

Was openM, and so great a light flow'd out 

He scarce could see inside a silver stand, 

That held the sacred vessel, cover'd o'er 

With crimson samite, and bright angels round, 

While hovering over with pierced hands and feet 

The very Christ in glory ray'd ! 

He rose 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 209 

To seize the Greal ; but, ere he came anear, 
A breath Hke burning smote him, that he fell. 
And could not move or speak ; when unseen hands 
Lifted his form and bore him gently out. 
He lay entranced for days, till time was ripe, 
When other knights of his own fellowship. 
Led there from difterent ways, his body found, 
And tended him until his speech return'd ; 
And then he warn'd them, as they linger'd round 
The p.ortal closed they often strove to ope. 
Lest they too should be smitten like himself 
For over-boldness. " For now I know," he said, 
'• No man shall win the Sancgreal but the one 
Whom Christ shall call ! Alas ! he call'd not me !" 

And so they waited, till Sir Galahad, 
After long journeys and adventures strange, 
Came in their midst. They wonder'd much to see 
His visage greatly changed, for all the youth 
And bloom had gone from it, although it show'd 
Rare beauty still, as from a grace within; 
For he had lived with labor, sorrow, strife, 
Yet ever meekly, patiently towards God, 
And in true charity with men ; his love. 
His trial, and his grief, had only borne 
His pure soul nigher heaven, and made him see 
In other hearts the pain was in his own, 
And kept him tender even when he smote. 
And when they told him that within those walls 
The Sancgreal was, he trembled, and his face 
U 



210 THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 

Was rapturous with joy ; when, lo ! a voice 

Caird three times "Galahad," and the closed door, 

Barr'd 'gainst the rest, stood open unto him ! 

His comrades crowded in the hall, while he, 

With timid stejDs, as doubting his own worth, 

Went slowly in, and up the altar-steps, 

Where stood the Holy Greal on silver stand. 

He bow'd his head before it, as a choir 

Of clustering angels sang exquisite strains ; 

While Christ's own self through circling lustre 

stretch'd 
His wounded hand, when roll'd away the cloth 
Of samite, and took up the sacred thing 
And gave to liim ; then in sweet tones, that thrill'd 
His listeners, bade him bear it o'er the land. 
That all who saw it might be bless'd like him. 
And then all vanish'd, save the vessel clasp'd 
Close to the young knight's breast, who upward 

look'd 
In praiseful ecstasy, while gather'd round 
His peers, to gaze on it with solemn eyes. 
And feel how lovely 'twas to draw so near 
To aught just come from God ; and Galahad 
Took oath of them to travel as a guard 
For their great gift, that all should help proclaim 
Its power and good, that more might know delight. 

Then journey'd they in company, save one, 
Launcelot, who took the tidings to the king 
Or ere he went to tell his own far realm. 



THE QUEST OF THE SANCGREAL. 211 

And ever on their way the people flock'd 

About the marvellous prize ; the sick were heal'd, 

The blind received their sight, and sinful lives 

Grew purer, havjng known- in part the bliss 

That reigns in Paradise, and heard it said 

Its joy would stay with them who merit proved ; 

The country's guilt was purged, and hope and 

love 
Walk'd hand in hand, like seraphs, mid its homes ! 
Till they who humbly should have thank'd the 

Lord 
That He had made them servants of His wall, 
QuarreU'd between themselves which one had done 
The most to make the mighty Sancgreal known ; 
And at the last, in sooth, they questioned oft 
The what it really was ! 

And Galahad, 
Sore smitten, could not stay their angry tilts, 
E'en when he went among them with his hands 
Outholding the bless'd Greal ! And then he pray'd 
That Clirist would take his spirit to Himself, 
Where reign'd His j^eace. God's mercy heard his 

cry, 
And, in full sight of all His angels, bore 
The holy vessel from his dying arms 
Up to the highest heaven. And only they 
Have ever look'd upon the treasure since 
Who pray and fast, and through repentant tears 
Catch far-off glimpses of its glory's light. 
And while he lay upon his couch and watch'd 



212 LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE. 

The soaring messengers, the knights stood round, 
E'en mid their mourning, all disputing still, 
And asked him, ere he pass'd away, to tell 
What he had deem'd the Sancgreal really was ! 
And Galahad uplifted his weak form. 
And with his white face awed them, as his lips. 
Quivering with death, sjDoke out his last, grand 

words : 
" Men ! 'twas Truth ! God's own Eternal Truth !" 



THE LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND 
GUINEVERE. 

Ch'ER the sea, from Castle Joyous Garde, 
Once more to England came Sir Launcelot back, 
Hearing King Arthur was so sore beset 
By traitor Mordred, who had dared to lift 
His wistful eyes towards the peerless queen. 
And with his treacherous sword to shake the throne, 
As once his troublous tongue had stirr'd the heart — 
The grand, large heart — of him who sat thereon. 
By whispering of the love she bore to Launcelot! 
But when with seven kings he landed there. 
The people told him of the battle past. 
And how that Arthur died that fearful day. 
" Ah, woe is me ! I would a man might weep V 
The brave knight said, and clutch'd his broad shield 
close ; 



LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE. 213 

*' For ne'er to me such heavy tidings came ! 

Fair lords, I thank ye all for your good will 

That bore ye with me to this country here, 

Wherein we came too late, for both are kill'd, — 

The princely gentleman wo came to save, 

The damn6d traitor that we came to slay ! 

My life will not be long enough to grieve 

In sore repentance for our lacking speed ; 

But Against the death that robb'd my vengeful steel 

No man may dare rebel ! And, sith His so, 

I ride myself to seek my ladye-queen. 

Who, sick and sad, has fled towards the west ; 

1 go alone ; nay, when knew Launcelot fear? 

And if for me the realm be perilous 

That once was my dear home, I wear my sword, 

And still can lift an arm'd man from the ground. 

Await ye here for just a fortnight's space ; 

And if I come not then, take all your ships 

And go again to your own lands ; for I 

Will do as I have told you heretofore. 

Farewell, kind comrades ! tried, true friends, adieu \" 

So Launcelot unto Almesbury came. 

Not knowing Guinevere abided there. 

And rested him in prayer before the shrine ; 

Then, as he walk'd adown the cloister'd aisle, 

Sudden he met the queen, all white and weak. 

For she had seen him doff his casque and kneel. 

And swoon'd three times or ere she trembling rose, 



214 LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE. 

And bade the nuns stand far the while she went 
And talk'd with her old love once more. 

He bow'd, 
Pallid as she ; for all his heart leap'd up 
AVith one quick, passionate throb to greet 
The woman whom he loved ; and yet respect 
For her great grief, her sacred garb, controU'd 
To knightly homage his first eager thrill. 
His strong arms yearn'd to fold her to his breast, 
His parching lips to kiss that quivering mouth 
Into the crimson of its former smile. 
Or close those heavy lids with fond caress ; 
He was athirst to see that precious face, 
So wan and changed, yet dearer for the change, 
Upturn'd to his with one sweet look of yore ! 
But, check'd, subdued by those sad eyes, that robe, 
He stoop'd with courtly mien to touch her hand. 
She held it back beneath her coarse serge sleeve, — ■ 
The little hand that used to meet his own, 
Palm close to palm, in such delicious clasp. 
In those old times at Camelot, when he wore 
Her silken scarf at tournament or joust! 
Something that seem'd a tear flash'd o'er his sight ! 
Was it a dream that she had loved him once ? 
Was it a dream when the soft voice, kept cold 
By her stern will, bade him return again 
To his own land, that nevermore her soul 
Might be in peril from her sight of him ? 
Was it a dream that she accused their love 
Of all the evils that the kingdom mourn'd, 



LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE. 215 

And, sighing, told " her life was vowed to prayer" ? 

He listen'd as if one of Merlin's spells 

Had bound his sense in silence, till she said. 

Her hand upon her heart, "That he should wed ; 

That he would soon forget, in his fair realm, 

A fading queen reft of her grace and state ; 

Or if sometimes, when, for a little space. 

He thought of her and all their guilty past. 

He but would pray Grod's peace on her the while 

He had grown happy with a gentle wife. 

She thought that she might die without regret ! 

And if— oh, if '' 

Here sobs broke up her s^^eech, 
And Launcelot knelt as one that takes an oath. 
While she, half bending, dropp'd upon his brow 
Hot tears, that stirr'd his manhood into words ! 
" My heart's one love ! thou knowest ne'er on earth 
Shall other love than thine be aught to me ! 

Guinevere, hast thou forgot how oft 

1 promised thee I would be always leal ? 
Was Launcelot ever false unto his vows ? 
I am as true as when I told my love. 

And thou didst come into my waiting arms, 
Blushing and trembling with life's perfect bliss ! 
Ah, no, — my queen, — no wife for me, — no land, 
No hope in this world left ! I, too, will give 
My coming days to prayer ; wilt thou, too, pray 
That we may meet again beyond the grave? 
My love will live e'en there, — Guinevere ! 
own love !" 



216 LAST MEETING OF LAUNCELOT AND GUINEVERE. 

And here he stoop'd 
And kiss'd her sandall'd foot. With one great cry, 
One look to heaven, she turn'd to flee from him ; 
And he fell prostrate, moaning with despair ! 
For one long minute, like an age of strife, 
She battled with the wild, wild Wish to lift 
His head upon her bosom as of yore, — 
To live again, e'en though 'twas deadly sin. 
One hour of love, and then — then die of joy ! 
She almost knelt to touch his clustering hair, 
Her pale cheek flush'd, her panting breath came 

fast,— 
When, like the voice of God, the vesper-hymn 
Gave her weak woman's heart to angels' charge. 
Their love, — the present, — her youth's lover there, — 
Seem'd to grow dim before the cross of Christ ; 
Her agony was o'er ; the thorns upon her brow 
Became a crown of light through passion slain ! 
She found the Sancgreal in that trial-hour ! 
A vision of unspoken glory fill'd 
Her raptured view, and, when it died away, 
It left her face as 'twere the face of one 
Who might have talk'd with God ! 

And Launcelot rose, 
And look'd upon her countenance, and knew 
He was no more to her ! 

And yet he craved, 
Ere he should go from her for evermore. 
That he might kiss her once, but only once. 
For sake of their old love and his long truth ! 



launcelot's vigil. 217 

She waved her hand, as when upon the throne 
She would dismiss a minstrel or a squire ; 
Nor did he dare to ask again the boon 
He long'd to take : " her life was vowed to heaven !" 
But, fading slowly through the twilight dim, 
Pass'd from her sight into the outer world ; 
And mid the stillness sang the solemn choir, 
"■Kyrie Eleison! Christe, exaudi nos!" 



LAUNCELOT'S VIGIL. 



Launcelot du Lake, that had been bravest knight, 
Launcelot du Lake, whom Guinevere had loved, 
Launcelot du Lake, whom all the world had praised, 
For very sorrow threw aside his sword, 
And folded o'er his slowly-breaking heart 
A monk's coarse robe, and in a narrow cell 
Forgot the world, and learn'd to serve his God ! 
And thither came to him, to share alike 
Penance and fasting, seven other lords, 
Whose armor rusted in the chapel vaults 
The while they pray'd together at the shrine, — 
His old-time friends, that in the storied days 
Had with each other jousted, jested, rode. 
And pledged their ladies' names at merry feasts, 
And lived the thoughtless life that scars the soul. 
19 



218 launcelot's vigil. 

Launcelot the monk, changed from the gallant sir 
That never met his peer in field or hall, 
Slmnber'd, and saw a vision as he slept, — 
Saw once again, amid the dreams of night, 
The woman's face that was his earthly fate, — 
The queen's, — hut not as she had used to come 
Into his sleeping thoughts that brought so oft 
Her tender tones, her clinging kiss, her eyes 
Looking in his with love's fond, rapturous gaze, 
But as a man whose deep, repentant zeal 
Has scourged the flesh, till passion, pride of life, 
And all base things are banish'd from the soul 
That sees, through pain, the glory of the Lord ; 
Or with the spirit, freed from mortal taint, 
With other spirits holds communion strange. 
She bent above his worn and pallid cheek. 
That flush'd not now to feel her mouth so near, 
And mid the solemn silence call'd his name, 
And bade him unto Almesbury haste, 
To find her dead ; from thence to bear her forth 
And bury her beside her husband, the great king. 
Who would forgive her when she came once more 
To rest beside him on his royal couch ; 
For prayer and penitence had purged her life 
From her youth's sin, and she could meet him now ! 

So Launcelot rose ere it was day, and went, — 
The seven others with him, — went once more 
Journeying together in the open air. 
Feeble and weak who once were stout and strong, 



launcelot's vigil. 219 

And smiled not as of yore to see afar 
The spires of Camelot glitter in the sun. 
And when they enter'd at the nunnery gate, 
The ladies told them that the queen was dead, 
And murmur'd, ere her voice was hush'd in death, 
That Launcelot thither came to read her mass. 
And as they talk'd, his hot tears fell adown, 
And faltering words ask'd if aught else she spake ; 
And gentle hearts held back unwelcome truth, 
Until he urged the answer: — "That she pray'd, 
Till her last breath, that nevermore her eyes 
With living sight might see Sir Launcelot's form V 
And Launcelot turn'd his face towards the wall, 
That those near by should mark not in his look 
Of mortal agony the sudden throe. 

They laid her in the broad aisle of the church, 
Before the altar, and lit all the lights ; 
And o'er the bier, instead of sable pall, 
They cast the purple cloak she wore that day 
She fled from throne and strife for shelter there. 
And Launcelot kept the midnight watch alone — 
The last — with her, — with Guinevere, — the dead ! 
He sang her dirge who erst had whisper'd words 
Into those willing ears had thrill'd her heart, — 
That heart whose throbbing pulses then had leap'd 
In burning blushes when he came anear, 
And stirr'd the very velvet that now lay 
So still upon the silent shape ; the while 
He breathed her name, her dear name, in such tones 



220 launcelot's vigil. 

As might have reach'd her in the deepest grave ! 
He read her mass, and wept between the prayers, 
Imploring God, for Christ's incarnate sake, 
To give her peace, to take her to His rest, 
That so, when Arthur met her a^ she walk'd 
White-robed, with angels, in the golden street, 
He might forget her human sin, and know 
That God's forgiveness seal'd her his true wife ! 

And, when his sacred duty was all done. 

He rose from kneeling 'neath the host, and look'd 

Once more upon her face, — and then — and then 

His full heart broke ! He thought of all the past ; 

He saw her, as at first, a fair, young bride, 

Regal, yet shy of state, and glad to be 

Apart from court, and laughing with her maids, 

Or riding ^neath green boughs with loosen'd hair, 

Or dancing changing measure with rare grace. 

He felt again the thrill that fired his blood 

When first her soft palm, trembling, press'd his 

own ; 
He saw the drooping lash, the dewy mouth 
Waiting his proud caress in other times. 
And lived again each hour of passionate joy, 
Sweeter for being secret, save that now 
Each left upon his soul the weight of crime ! 
He bow'd to kiss her lips, — to clasp again 
Those marble hands. A sort of fierce delight 
Flash'd through his frame to think that his should 

be 



launcelot's vigil. 221 

The last warm touch should ever linger there ! 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! he dared not ! She had gone 

To be forgiven : it was not meet that she 

Should bear in Eden seal of former shame. 

She had o'erlived her love : he had no right 

Even to look upon her with the olden thoughts, 

Since that was lost had sanctified their guilt I 

Renunciation was his office's oath I 

It was' God's justice he should suffer this ! 

And she slept there, so cold, so pale, so still, — 

And he stood by, so shaken with his grief. 

Memories, remorse, all passions that can war 

In a man's mind, — and over both the cross. 

He deem'd if he had seen her only once, 

Once more before she died, and heard her say 

His love was pardon'd, and the ill it wrought, — 

If her last sigh had only pass'd away 

Upon his breast, — he could have borne to know 

That he must live without her in the world I 

But she had plead to see him nevermore I 

Was it, perchance, because she fear'd to feel 

The old dream wake again in her last hours ? 

He quiver'd with the hope, and eager sought 

To catch upon the stony brow one trace 

Of the dear look that thrall'd him in his youth. 

Not there ! — not there ! — she loved her husband now. 

And in the sight of God she gazed on him 

With those sweet eyes, all purified by death ! 

And Launcelot paced the lonely aisles, and fought 

With his own soul until he tamed his woe, 



ILL LAUNCELOT S VIGIL. 

And went not mad with anguish that long night ! 

Then, just at dawn, he knelt beside the corpse, 

And pray'd that, if so be he yet should win 

A place in paradise, it might be where, 

In Christ's wide heaven, she ne'er might see his 

face ! 
For, as he cast such sorrow on her life, 
He would not shadow her immortal bliss 
Even by memories he would cherish still 
Through all eternity apart from her ! 

And the next day they laid her in the earth 

Beside the king, and in the open tomb 

Sir Launcelot saw them lying side by side, 

And swoon'd to think that he had loved her so, 

And yet should be so faj* away from her 

When at the resurrection-morn they two 

To the last judgment would together rise I 

So, day by day, he came unto the grave. 

And mourn'd and faded, till his strength no more 

Could bear him from his couch, and then he died, — 

Died with a smile upon his lips, like one 

Who takes into his dreams a lingering kiss ! 

And all his seven freres had sworn to him 

That they would bury him at Joyous Garde ; 

And, as he lay in state in his own land. 

With the queen's scarf cross'd on his shrunken 

breast, 
That he so oft at tournaments had worn, 



AVILION. 223 

»Sir Ector spoke his requiem with tears :- 

'* Lie there, Sir Launcelot, head of Christian knights ! 

That never yet was match'd by earthly peer, 

The courtliest lord that ever bore'a shield. 

The noblest friend that ever shared the salt, 

The truest lover ever couch'd a spear ! 

Thou wert the gallantest that ever rode, — 

The goodliest person in the press of knights, — 

The kindest man to ladies in the hall. 

The sternest to thy mortal foe in field ! 

Lie there. Sir Launcelot, and in future days. 

When men shall seek example for their sons, 

They shall but say, ' Be brave as Launcelot was, — 

Launcelot, who was the bravest, gentlest knight 

In all King Arthur's court, — in all the world ! 

Flower of chivalry, servant of his God !' '' 



AVILION. 

"The island valley of Avilion, 
Where falls not hail, nor rain, nor any snow, 
Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns 
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea!" 
Tennyson's ''3forte d' Arthur." 

''Arthur should come again !" the prophet said 
The kingdom waited long, and each great soul 
That star-like rose upon the nation's sky 



224 AVILION. 

Was watch'd for token of expected fate 

That should achieve the change and good desired. 

But never one fulfill'd the perfect dream 

Of stainless character and lofty aim 

That in tradition lived and hoping minds. 

And, reading this, I murmur'd to myself, 

" 'Tis better so : the joeople must be great 

That keep such standard of high excellence 

Their best do never reach ! So let me use 

The gift the fairies gave me at my birth 

To set in common view, with Saxon words, 

A living image of the ideal knight, 

Lest men forget, amid these restless times 

Of hollow shows and worshipping of gold, 

That truth and pureness once were in the world, 

Nor lose their faith that they will come again ! 

And so I sang the songs of other days, — 

Have ta'en to modern homes and modern hearts 

The ghosts of ancient dead that lived their lives 

As grandly or as weakly as their age 

Or natures wrought on them ! with my witch-wand 

I open'd Fancy's portal, and led forth 

In their own shapes, to breathe earth's air again, 

The storied men who had become a name. 

And group'd them all about the British king. 

As once they circled him at Table Round, 

And that fair queen, so frail because she loved, 

That, false herself, kept her one lover true, 

Whom Arthur trusted, blind to his great wrong, 



AVILION. 225 

Since his large, royal soul in others saw- 
Only the good and truth was in his own. 

And then I said, with that vague, quenchless thirst 
We dreamers know when mingles sorrow's shade 
With discontent at our own labor done, 
That seems so poor beside the vivid thought, 
"And what reward is mine for this my work ? 
Men will forget it in a little while, 
And when this brain is dust, how few will care 
That once it throbb'd with Inspiration's heat ! 
Would I could go away from all the doubt, 
The pain and turmoil of this weary life, 
Into Avilion, where the good king went. 
And rest me in the Happy Isle, like him !" 
And so I closed my tired eyes, that press'd 
Two tears between the lids, that, as they touch'd 
The level ground, into a wonder grew ; 
For, lo ! a lake that spread its waters up 
Nigh to my feet, while through the sunset glow 
A black barge hove in sight, like one that came 
For wounded Arthur, only now it bore 
No fair, crown'd queens, no hooded, weeping dames ! 
Only a pallid steersman stood at helm. 
With white garb stirless as a statue's robe. 
That seem'd to sweep adown o'er folded wings. 
The boat came slowly to the coast, and paused. 
I inland turn'd an instant's sight, and saw 
That darkness gather'd o'er the fields, and light 
Was all before, then stepp'd into the stern, 
15 



226 AVILION. 

And o'er the rising tide the vessel moved. 

We floated on ; my comrade never spoke, 

And I sat silent, with a lonely sense 

Born from the far-off look in his sad eyes. 

But once, remembering Charon, I arose 

And laid a coin within his idle hand ; 

He gazed at it in wonder, curved his arm. 

And dropp'd it in the waves ; and, half abash'd, 

I turn'd towards the glories of the sky. 

The slanting rays shot up the azure arch 

In silver streaks that waned in motes away, 

Tinging the fleecy clouds with rainbow hues ; 

We sail'd on golden ripples, whose light foam 

Died on th' horizon's verge, where, half in heaven, 

A purple island hung with rosy shores ; 

While stretching off on either side there shone 

White lustrous mountains edged with peaks of fire. 

We came anear at last. Delicious airs 

Play'd o'er my brow, that brought a faint, rare 

sound 
Of distant harmony ; while through my limbs 
New vigor ran, that sent the dancing blood 
Tingling in languid veins, as each heart-throb 
More quick and eager with expectance grew. 
In buoyant feelings I had long forgot, 
My youth and hope came back to me once more ; 
And, like the slow uprising of a mist, 
There roll'd away the darkness that was laid 
Between my mind and things I strove, to solve ; 
Deep, secret meanings dawn'd upon my brain, 



AVILTON. 227 

That had been clull'd with dust, but in this clime 
Saw clear the hidden truth. Sorrow and pain, 
That woke such wild, blind prayers, look'd only 

now 
As ministers to purify desire ; 
And e'en the earth's great riddle that we beat 
Eebellious wills 'gainst, — ah ! I may not show 
What grand significance e'en evil took ! 
And, as I leap'd upon the shining beach, 
I cried, "How few in that old world of woe 
E'er dream'd the Happy Island lay so near !" 
And such rich rapture stirr'd my grateful soul, 
I bent my knee in worship's ecstasy, 
Thanking my God that, after years of toil 
To know the Truth, and fallings by the way. 
My Faith in Him had stood the test of Thought ! 
But most my spirit thank'd Him that He is ! 
And, as I rose, one that I knew stood by, 
And look'd in mine with eyes as tender, soft 
As when we parted — ah ! so long ago ! 
" I knew that you would come !" he said, when first 
The bliss of meeting yielded feeling words ; 
" And I have waited here; for all the joys 
Of this ffxir home were incomplete and poor 
Till I had you once more, my life's beloved ! 
See these green lawns, these shaded, quiet woods. 
Where we will walk together, as of yore. 
And never change or part, or weep or yearn ! 
Was it not worth the tears we shed on earth 
To love forever in Avilion thus ?" 



228 AVILION. 

And so we talk'd a while, until I ask'd, 
*' I marvel that 'tis light here still ! 'twas dusk 
Beyond there when I started ! Does the sun 
Ne'er set on this bless'd land ?" He gently said, 
"At eventime there shall be light !" and then 
I knew no night would e'er dispel the glow 
That rested on this isle from unseen source. 
And afterwards I question 'd of the prince, 
If yet he dwelt here while the nations wait ; 
And my dear comrade took my willing hand, 
And led me through the shadowy lanes, wherein 
He said we might meet Arthur and the queen. 

I think mine eyes had glimpses of the views. 
Through opening glades, that once my dreams be- 
lieved 
Were parts of all fair countries far away 
That I had never seen, — green slopes and swells. 
And high hills veil'd in floating, silver mists, 
And countless waterfalls, and limpid streams 
Where trees droop'd o'er and shaded lotus buds ; 
And 'neath our feet and all about us bloom'd 
Rich, unknown blossoms, and the twining leaves 
A dewy freshness bore ; and in the midst 
I walk'd in silent rapture, such as comes 
To human hearts in love's divinest hour. 
When speechless bliss o'erfloods the tender gaze 
And lifts th' aspiring soul through joy to God ! 
And there was nothing of the sadness here 
That stole through all the Nature I had known, 



AVILION. 229 

And made it ever seem like some vain show- 
In which a spirit grieves ; but flowers and sky, 
Meadow and stream, were freely, fully bright, 
As if the soul of happiness inspired 
Their life and beauty, wdiere no sorrow came; 
And all the higher pleasures of mere sense 
Were so etherealized, we could but feel 
A fine expansion, taintless of all flesh ! 
And, ds we walk'd together as of yore, 
Slow pacing mid the avenues of trees, 
Then through an arching vista I beheld 
A street of gold that ran 'twixt crystal domes. 
And two that came adown its sparkling slope ; 
And, as w^e drew anear, I saw that one 
Was grand in presence, kingly, and yet wore 
Such courteous, kindly mien, that one who begg'd 
Might call him "brother," though he graced a 

throne ! 
And clinging to his arm, wuth wdiite hands link'd, 
And small head thrown aback with all its wealth 
Of flowing hair, that thus the loving eyes 
Might seek the lofty face, was one that seem'd 
The very fairest creature e'er I saw. 
" Ah ! see ! they come \" my dear companion said, 
" The king and Guinevere \" and, as he ceased, 
We met them face to face, and Arthur spake 
To one he knew a stranger, in sweet tones 
Of simple welcome ; and then, mid our talk, 
lie ask'd, at last, " Do those you left behind 
Still keep a thought of me ? Do men still hope 



230 AVILION. 

That I will come again, as Merlin told, 

To do my best to win for them the right ?" 

And when I drew a picture of the times. 

And how the nations groan'd because was found 

No strong, true leader pure in life and aim, 

He turn'd aside, as if to muse alone ; 

And one came slowly up between the glades, 

On whose worn face there shone a holy smile, 

That might have been a seraph's, and stood by 

The while the queen ask'd, with a watchful glance 

Towards the prince, " Do men on earth still love 

As in the olden time ? Do ladies keep 

Their faith the same in spite of keen despair,?'' 

I answer'd not, but fondly clasp'd the hand 

That touch'd mine own, and something in our looks 

Spoke more than words unto her woman-sense. 

"Ah, well !" she said, without a sigh, or shade 

On her smooth brow, " we too loved well as you 

In years that are a dream, Isonde and I ! 

But then we loved with wrong, and pray'd to God, 

Long ere we died, to wipe our deep sin out ; 

And when we came here, all our feelings clung 

Whereto they ought, ere led astray by flesh ! 

See, now I stand by Launcelot, and no thrill 

Stirs him or me : I love my lord the king I" 

And I, remembering oft-repeated tales 

Of their great passion, then towards Launcelot 

turn'd, 
A sudden pity quivering on my mouth ; 
But he, with glowing brow and shining eyes, 



AVILION. 231 

Look'd up as if a vision met his view, 

And murmur'd softly, through his parted lips, 

" My God I my God ! I love but Thee, my God I" 

And just then Arthur came to me, and spoke 

Like one whose mind has measured some resolve 

And mastered it: " The time at last is ripe ! 

I will go back again ! The people need 

A chief whose soul knows glories that will lift 

His de'eds and motives o'er all petty price. 

I wore a crown before, and felt its thorns ; 

And I have known since what it is to live 

In heavens won by duty : so I go 

To lead the way to truth through seas of blood ! 

Come with me, while I sit me down once more 

Among the knights that shared my Table Round ; 

For who may tell if I can keep myself 

Unscath'd by sin, and here return again ? 

My own dear queen ! I never thought to see 

A tear in sweet Avilion ! Pray to God, 

Who sends me on His errand, that His love 

Shall compass me about until the end ; 

'Twill not be long to wait: you know, beloved, 

A thousand years in His sight are a day !" 

And so we went together to a vale 
Bosom'd in verdant hills, where waters lay. 
And round about, upon the lilied lawns, 
A goodly company of noble men. 
And Arthur sat him on a rising knoll. 
With Guinevere's bow'd head upon his breast. 



232 AVILION. 

And told his high resolve, and ask'd of each 
Some counsel of their wisdom, that his soul 
Might carry back into the lives of men 
The teachings won through death by heavenly 

thought. 
And as they throng'd about him with deep words, 
And deeper meanings, answering to his need 
With wondrous axioms that each one had wrung 
The pith of from a sharp experience, 
I soon was 'ware that, mid tlie knightly shades 
That once for right clash 'd swords at Camelot, 
Came large-brow'd, lifted heads, light-crown'd like 

kings ; 
And these with tuneful voices utter'd slow 
Such music, knowledge, and prophetic sense, 
I scarce knew which most marvellous seem'd to 

hear. 
So blended with a simple, quiet ease 
Was tone melodious and thought sublime. 
And in a pause my comrade softly said, 
" These are the poets, dear : before, we knew 
Their minds by flashes ; but from their own lips, 
Oft wandering by these everlasting streams, 
We now shall share the fulness of their growth, 
And hear old strains completed that were left 
With something wanting in our other sphere I" 

The poets ! my poets ! how I long'd 

To see your faces once ! How your sweet words 

Have stirr'd the pulses of my hot young heart 



AVILION. 233 

Or still'd its fever ! Masters, singers, skalds ! 
Ye were my friends that never play'd me false, 
The teachers ever pointing to the True ! 
Your names lie gather'd in my inmost soul, 
As cherish' d as the flowers that we keep 
In token of great happiness and love ! 

souls inspired, through whom amid my woe 

1 stretch'd my hands to God ! I look'd on you. 
Saw your grand foreheads, heard your voices clear, 
And could not tell, for gazing in your eyes, 

Tf white shapes hovering round your steps were 

they 
Whose names your songs made glorious for aye. 
The women ye had loved, or angels charm'd 
From other heavens by the music here. 
I saw ye all, my bards ! ay, mine and earth's, 
God's and eternity's ! Albeit I saw 
Where tliorns had pierced your brows, and naked 

feet 
Were scarr'd from treading ploughshares red with 



My stately Sophocles with Shakspeare walk'd, 
Two royal natures mated, with a space 
Betwixt their purple and the next who came ; 
Yet they were men too grand to look on men, 
And blinded that they should but see the gods ! 
One sang to Grecian harp the world's child-faith, 
And one its manhood's to a loftier lyre i 
Homer and Milton, with majestic eyes, 



234 AVILION. 

That saw us tremble at their awful runes ! 
Then Sappho, with her hand in Tasso's twined, 
Her fruitless passion spent in that wild leap 
When flashing of her robe the ages thrill'd ! 
And he sublime through sorrow born of love, 
Without a speck of prison-dust to float 
'Twixt his fond hope and glories of his dream ! 
And crush'd Italia's boast, that sets her high 
Above the thrones that cannot seize at least 
Her great crown-gems, outshining all their power ! 
Virgil and Dante, with the sadness fled 
Their human brows once caught among the lost ! 
Then Spenser, Chaucer, that had lived so near 
To Nature's heart, they show'd us how our own 
Throbb'd pulse to pulse with hers ! While two 

grand forms 
Came, with a prince between, who loved them well, 
And made himself a prouder tomb than his 
Of the same name who slept enthroned at Aix ! 
For, dropping out the sceptre from his hand, 
He laid him down at last betwixt the dust 
That bore eternal fames, and link'd his grave 
On either side to sacred soil for aye ! 
The rare completed man of many lives. 
Whose eager search strove ever towards the truth, 
And sang the gleams he caught in deathless notes, 
Great Goethe show'd in meanings of his si:)eech 
That earth's unquiet quest was found at last ! 
And that fine nature, brother of his mind, 
True lover of the beautiful and free, 



AVILION. 235 

Schiller, who trod the highest paths of Art, 

With Carl of Weimar looking upon both 

As Saul might once have gazed upon the seer 

That pour'd anointing oil upon his head ! 

Byron and Burns, those passionate, rich souls, 

That here, unfetter'd from all scorn and ill 

And weakness of the flesh, had grown sublime 

By living purely out their higher selves ; 

Inspired of genius still, whose burning words 

Startled a glance of fire to Arthur's eyes. 

That faded into awe as solemn rose 

The voice of one amid the moment's hush 

That might have been a prophet of the Lord 

To shake and gather spirits in the world, 

If time and reason could have cast from life 

The hot dreams of his youth ere death had led 

His seeing mind unto the Fount of Light ! 

And after Shelley, with his trembling lips 

Uttering low music into language breathed, 

Endymion pass'd, who left to mark his rest 

The record of a name in water writ. 

And found his high thoughts known beyond the 

stars ! 
And as they moved aside, they group'd around 
A fair, slight form but late come in their midst. 
That stood within the circle of their tones 
Calmly as one who long had known each soul. 
Yet with a gladness shining on her face 
Like to an exile's who is welcomed home 
By old familiar voices, answering all 



236 AVILTON. 

With some remember'd token of the past ! 

The mighty ancients spoke to her in words 

As musical as choruses they sung ; 

The soul-blind minstrels of dim, distant days 

Stood side by side with martyrs who had mix'd 

The last triumphant strains of holy lives 

With hatred's incense of ascending flames ; 

And all sublime and tender hearts that loved 

And gave love language in their native tongues 

That won new harmony from notes divine ; 

And they who play'd on lutes by sorrow tuned, 

Or lifted nations, in a burst of song. 

From deep despair to heights of conquering faith, — 

These talk'd with her as one whom their blest 

sight 
Saw worthy evermore to walk with them 
In amaranthine fields 'neath trees that bear 
The leaves of knowledge and the fruit of life ! 
And some there were that breathed in broken 

sounds 
Such thrilling, earnest thoughts, I could but feel 
That they had been the voiceless ones of earth, 
Tf^ng their new-won power with timid lips. 
As children stammer ere they learn to speak ! 
Yet, as all cluster'd round the central shape, 
As in the skies the constellations range 
About a single star, ofttimes less bright 
And smaller than the suns that orbit it. 
She spoke some reverent word that drew reply, 
Pointing her hands towards the far-ofif world, 



AVILION. 237 

Then towards the glowing beams of changeless 

light 
Wherein the good king sat among his knights ; 
And all the streams and woods, and hills and vales, 
Gave solemn echo to the glad refrain, 
Suiting all time w^hen Avrong bj? right is slain, 
Of " Pan, Great Pan is dead ! Pan, Pan is dead V 

And, as the last note floated low away, 

Arthur arose, and shoreward turn'd his steps, 

And all the company went with him there ; 

Launcelot and Galahad on either side 

Walk'd, with their lustrous faces, though one show'd 

That pureness had belong'd to it from birth, 

And to the other came through pain and death ; 

Then Bors and Bedivere, Sir Gareth, Kaye, 

Tristan and Pellinore, Gawaine and Urre, 

And all the other proud, familiar names 

That shook the lists with shoutings in old days. 

And the fair queen, after quick rain of tears, 

With head uplifted like to one who sees 

The bow of promise, all the storm forgot 

In listening to the music of the bards. 

And when we came upon the sparkling beach. 

The barge was waiting, but the helmsman now 

Was a great seraph, crown 'd, with wings outspread, 

Whose glory circled him as rays the sun. 

And Arthur enter'd in, and round his form 

The angel's radiance made wondrous light. 

And some would fain have shared with him again 



238 AVILION. 

This new adventure ; but he simply said, 

" 'Twas written I should go alone ! my work 

Needs not that more be banish'd from their heaven ! 

Nay, nay, dear friends ! It is the will of God V 

And at the sacred Name all bow'd their heads 

And let him pass, and, as the vessel heaved 

On waves of golden light, the air seem'd full 

Of glorious faces and of snowy plumes. 

And over us unnumber'd voices join'd 

In such sweet harmony, it swell'd the tears 

In speechless ecstasy from my touch'd heart. 

And then — and then — was it the stirring sail 

Or sudden silence broke the marvellous spell ? 

Alas ! I know not ! only, in a flash, 

I found myself once more within this world, 

On which the shades had gathered into night, 

And mid the throng that wait the Coming King ! 



MARBLE ISLE. 



239 



MARBLE ISLE. 



A SHIP went forth from nierrie England's shore, 

A stately ship, with sunlight on the sails, 

Freighted by hopes and wafted on by prayers, — 

Went forth to float in distant unknown seas, 

To rest in lonely ports, where ne'er before 

Came English voice to stir the silent air. 

Mothers had bless'd their boys, and sires their sons, 

Sisters had sobb'd farewell, and dearer hearts 

Had broken in their wordlessness of grief 

When all their world pass'd from their straining 

sight ; 
Each parting kiss, each fond, last yearning look, 
Had crush'd brave manhood's boasted pride of 

mien, 
And woke the fount of tears in woman's soul ; 
And hands had met with tighter strength of grasp 
To force the tear-drops from too willing eyes 
Back on the o'ercharged heart, to gush again 
In faster flow when freed from long restraint, 
Until the weepers smiled in very scorn 
To feel themselves grow weaken'd by their woe ; 
And there were broken accents and low tones, 
16 241 



242 MARBLE ISLE 

And quivering lips below hard, firm-knit brows, 
Fond, hurried promises, and sad replies, 
And oft-repeated names, that grew more dear 
To those that bore them for each loving look 
And tender lingering o'er the precious sound. 
Then sudden sunderings of clasping arms, 
The swiftly hoisted flag unfurling slow, 
A stir, a shout re-echoed from the land, 
A booming shot that drown'd each parting shriek, — 
And all was o'er : a ship had gone to sea ! 
The land was green as each one look'd farewell ; 
The breeze was odorous with new-mown hay ; 
The ripen'd grain waved golden in the sun ; 
While rippling meadows sparkled with their dew, 
Like emerald lakes that bore a fleet of flowers ; 
Each hawthorn hedge was musical with song ; 
The fruit-trees bow'd beneath their weight of 

■wealth, 
And children gather'd acorns in the woods. 
The land was green. Long after, they who sail'd 
Look'd longing back upon the home they left, 
And loved it more that it was fresh and fair; 
And, as they last beheld it, memory kept 
Its picture thus : their native land was green ! 

A ship went out to sea, sail'd full of souls, — 
Went forth, but back again came nevermore ! 
Mothers grew pale with watching, wept, and died ; 
And fathers went about their daily work 
With slower step, oft stopping by the way 



MARBLE ISLE. 243 

To muse in silence, sighing towards the sea, 

Or, starting, fancy that a shadow swept 

Across their path in likeness of their son, 

The while dark locks turn'd white, and creeping 

years 
But made them cling more closely in their age 
To one, the absent, than all other ties ; 
And sisters still remember'd in their prayers. 
Morning and night, the wandering sailor's name, 
Or, as time sped aj^ace, hush'd baby cries 
With promises of rare and wondrous things 
Their unknown kinsman, if he ever came. 
Would bring from distant lands beyond the main ; 
While of the dearer hearts, some never ceased 
To keep alive Hope's flame till quench'd by Death, 
Cheating suspense with some delusive dream, 
Or, fading slow with fear, were faithful still. 
To meet reward at last, when those they loved 
Gave watcher's w^elcome on th' eternal shore ; 
And some wore weeds a while, then heard again 
Love's wooing words, and found another mate, 
Losing mid newer cares youth's parting pang ; 
Children were born to them, rear'd up, and sent 
On sejjarate paths to find their future fate ; 
And it may be, some younger, daring soul 
Turn'd seaward, and recall'd her girlhood's grief 
In anxious weeping for the Outward Bound ! 
And there were tears to shed o'er little graves, 
Tears for some footstep that would rove astray. 
Some erring one to whom the mother-heart 



244 MARBLE ISLE. 

Clung ever closer as it farther stray'd ; 
Tears forced by poverty, by loss, by pain. 
Uncounted tears for countless passing ills. 
Sorrows that spread, like thickest mourning-veil 
Between the present and their life's past woe. 
And some lived long, and, seated by the fire 
In arm-chair shelter'd in the warmest nook. 
Their children's children climb'd their willing knee, 
Coaxing their grand-dame with their lisping lips 
For fairy legend, tale of olden time. 
Or, best of all, that history of her youth 
Of how she travell'd to a far-off town 
And saw a stately ship go out to sea 
That never, never more came back again ; 
Nor noted, in their eager, listening mood, 
How the old voice was sweeter, low, and sad, 
Whene'er she spoke of one who sail'd that morn,— 
Although she told the story as she felt. 
So long ago the time and scene had been. 
As if the blooming girl left lone that day 
Was not herself, but some one she had known. 
Nor could they deem how through a weary life. 
While hair, and hope, and all things else wax'd gray. 
That touch of memory kept her heart still green. 

And there was one, a woman young and fair, 
Who came that morn to bid her love farewell. 
Whom she had wounded with the passing scorn 
Of thoughtless girlhood in her pride of power, 
Then pined in wonder that he came no more, 
Until a message bade her meet him there, 



MARBLE ISLE. 2J:5 

That, pardoning, he might pray her to forgive 
Tlie hasty act that banish'd him from her. 
And so she came. The ship had sail'd an hour, 
Holding one bitter heart amidst its crew, 
"NVitli lips that no last kiss kept pure from sin. 
And she ! the hidden feelings of long days, 
The speechless anguish of repentant nights, 
The desolation of her woman's life, 
Swept up in one great wave of swelling woe 
Upon her heart, as 'gainst th' horizon's verge 
Dash'd sapphire billows into deeper depths ! 
She could not die ; for he was yet alive ! 
So, moaning in her pride of lonely grief, 
She turn'd aside to seek a place to weep, 
And found it in a gray-hair'd seaman's arms, — 
An old, rough man, who took her to his breast 
Like a hurt child, and soothed with rude, kind 

words. 
As if the golden head he shelter'd so 
Awoke some memory of his far-off youth. 
Until the vessel that his bosom bore, 
The tattoo'd token of a distant voyage. 
Heaved on the brine that wet its aged keel. 
And the scarr'd hand swept o'er the dim, worn 

eyes. 
That, unrestrain'd at last, shared tears with hers. — 
And when th' allotted time had lapsed away, 
And anxious hearts had said the ship was due, 
They came again, the old man and the girl, 
Daily, for months, in sunshine and in storm, 
To sit together on a jutting crag 



246 MARBLE ISLE. 

And look across those ever rolling waves ; 
While harden'd men grew gentle at the sight, 
And sternest voices whisper'd words of hope, 
Till Pity dared not bid her longer dream ; 
And then they silent stood whene'er she pass'd, 
Bowing before her sorrow with wet eyes. 
And when she came no more, they call'd the rocic, 
Whereon her life had wasted slow away, 
" The Watcher's Wait ;" and so they name it yet. 
Each morn they came, he patient with her woe, 
And she half fever'd with her fadeless trust 
fhat each new day would bless her yearning eyes. 
Vnd thus, with lips apart and tight-clasp'd hands, 
' Uie watch'd each sail that whiten'd o'er the blue. 
Upstarting, if it homeward near'd the port, 
To seek with longing gaze for one dear form. 
Or drooping 'neath sharp disappointment's sting. 
As, speeding onward, it escaped her view. 
And sometimes, half unconscious that she wept. 
Great tears would drop and mingle with the waves 
O'er which she lean'd, upbraiding with her pain ; 
And as they fell, the mariner would think, 
" Perchance in some old sea-cave where he lies, 
Borne mid yon waters, they may touch the lips 
She ne'er will press again V And then he grew 
More careful and more tender of his charge ; 
And when the twilight shadow'd o'er the sea. 
He led her home, still turning as she went, — 
Until, one day, when from the stormy clouds 
The sun burst sudden out, till all the foam. 
White-cresting angry deeps that fought the winds, 



MARBLE ISLE. 247 

Flash'd with the glory of a victor's crown, 
All sparkling diamonds on an emerald helm ; 
There, as she sat upon the bare, brown rock. 
With long hair loose and heavy with the rain. 
Her pale face leaning 'gainst her comrade's arm, 
Slowly there came a change upon her look, 
A gathering meaning, as the Northern seer's 
When first his vision marks some phantom-shape, 
Then, lilting up her head, gazed o'er the sea, 
Transfix'd and silent, like to one who sees 
A Gorgon shield ; then brightly, like that burst 
Of sudden sunlight, shone a happy smile, 
Chasing all gloom and pallor from her brow, 
As, starting up and stretching out her arms. 
She spoke his name, and then sank slowly down, 
Still looking outward with the same rapt gaze, 
Till Death and Evening shut the west from view ! 

The long years went ; yet 'gainst the sky's blue edge 

Still beat the waters with unceasing roar. 

Like baffled prisoners 'gainst their dungeon-wall. 

But, inward rolling, brought no tidings back ; 

And when full half a century had pass'd. 

Some heirs of this forgotten venture, roused 

By slight memorial of unknown fates. 

Charged vessels northward-bound to solve tlieir 

doom. 
And so, one summer morn, a wandering bark 
Through cracking icebergs' shadows safely steer'd, 
And moor'd beside an island's barren shore ; 
In spite of feai% guided by snow-patch'd rock 



248 MARBLE ISLE. 

Whereon two wliiten'd skeletons were peroh'd, 
Towards eager search for rehcs, and here found, 
Mid ruin'd beams, a mildew'd book, that told, 
Half log, half journal, all the story sad 
Of that old vessel and her long-lost crew ; 
Written by one who, as they gather'd there, 
Was he that died the last on that lone spot. 
In the world's history 'twas a little page ; 
But, as all human hearts know human pain, 
Perchance to read what other lives endure 
May give some fainting soul the patience meet 
To share the common lot, and look to God ! 
And thus, as 'twere in that dead sailor's words, 
I paint the scenes that happen'd long ago, 
How other men have suffer' d ere they died. 



We sail'd to seek new fortunes in new lands. 
Won by our captain's promise of rich mines ; 
And 'mong our motley crew but two were free 
From labor and delusive dreams of wealth. 
The chaplain one, a man so slight of frame, 
So pure in word and deed, we well might deem 
That his unceasing prayer, his constant thought 
Of higher things, had purged his life and flesh 
Of all of passion, till his body seem'd 
To be the willing slave of soul sublime. 
We were not tender ! we, — a boisterous set 
Of untamed natures. Some had never known, 
Or would not brook, restraint upon their sin ; 
And few had ever thought of aught beyond 



MARBLE ISLE. 249 

The present, and but named their God in oaths ! 

Yet, when he came anear, the worst would hush 

Their ribaldry, though never once he marr'd, 

By useless preaching, laugh or harmless jest ; 

And when he left, there was a yearning sense 

Of something softer in our inmost hearts. 

That made us talk, e'en mid our reckless selves. 

Of homes and mothers, wives and little babes ; 

For there is that in human creatures still, 

Howe'er obscured by evil, that will bow 

To aught superior, be it strength of limb 

Or mind, and thrills when weakness seems to claim 

Protection from its self-acknowledged power. 

We bent before the goodness we believed, 

And, as we all were hardy, strong, and large, 

We had for him a feeling such as men 

Who are not brutes for helpless women hold. 

The other came on board with springing step 

And lifted head, a sneer upon his lips, 

And searching, sparkling eyes that never smiled. 

We could not guess what country gave him birth, 

So well he spoke the languages of all, 

Knew every land and wave and name of stars, 

Xor what the motive cast his lot with ours ; 

But we, the English of our motley crew. 

Swore that his birthplace must have been the sea. 

And all men foreign, since he show'd no love 

For human thing, but knew each mast and spar. 

And all the rules of sailing, as his home 

Had only been upon a vessel's deck, 



250 MARBLE ISLE. 

And that he restless roved to 'scape remorse I 

He never gave his hand ; and one who read 

Arabian tales did notice at the mess 

He touch'd no salt, — as if he would not share 

The pledge of friendship with a living soul. 

He seem'd to have strange sense of what was hid 

And worst in all, and with his mocking speech 

Would fright us with such reading of our thoughts 

That something kin to fear comjDeird his scorn. 

And only once a quiver of surprise 

Betoken'd passion 'neath the practised mask, 

At sudden meeting of the chaplain's gaze. 

I stood near by, and saw him grasp the arm 

That shrank as from the touch of searing flame. 

And, with a changed and eager voice, demand, 

" Where is she, priest? — wedded, or mad, or dead?" 

Slowly the white lips answer'd, "She has gone 

To heaven !" and the livid, questioning face 

Turn'd seaward from a look of pitying pain. 

But quick the old tone came: — " You loved her once, 

Or thought you did ; but I, who had her thoughts 

So long in life, am curious to know 

Who kept them at her death : you held, 'tis true, 

Advantage of your garb and circumstance. 

Two potent spells to sway a woman's mind, 

And I — Pshaw ! how, when, died the girl ? Canst 

tell?" 
I saw the flushing of the thin, worn brow, 
I saw the flashing of the soft, sweet eye, 
I saw the clenching of the hand, and heard 
The hard-drawn sigh that mark'd the end of strife, 



MARBLE ISLE. 251 

Wherein true holiness self's instinct slew ! 
An instant's work, — yet, as for Christ's sole sake 
I saw Christ's servant conquer nature thus, 
1 never once have ta'en Christ's name in vain ! 
Nor e'er forgot the thrilling voice that spoke : — 
" I buried her, her baby on her breast ; 
I gave the new-born child its name, — your name, — 
And closed their eyes together ; she bless'd you 
With her last, weak breath, dying forgave you. 
And never thought of me, who watch'd her through 
The gate of death, regardless of all sneers I" 
Oh, what a groan tore from the callous heart, 
As, like a wounded tiger in a cage. 
He paced a moment's space the narrow deck. 
Then, pausing full before the troubled face 
That watch'd his own, hiss'd out his fiery words ! 
"Forget, or think of her — dost hear? — as mine, 
Here and hereafter mine, who hates you still, 
Though now I know desertion, doubt, and death 
Ne'er gave you what you craved, — one dream of 

hers !" 
And then he went — and, ere an hour had pass'd, 
Was taunting a scarr'd Dane in his own tongue. 
The while the other, leaning o'er the sea. 
Did only seem to count the curling waves — 
I knew he pray'd to God, as One before 
Pray'd from the cross for those that nail'd Him 

there ! 

We sail'd and sail'd. Days grew to weary weeks. 
The glittering stars were brighter ; floating near, 



252 MARBLE ISLE. 

The sparkling bergs oft cross'd our timid track, 
Until one morn we woke to see our ship 
Wedged in by icy walls, that crack'd and heaved. 
And wore fantastic shapes that changed each hour, 
But show'd no crystal door, with rainbows arch'd, 
Whence we might 'scape into the open sea. 
The constant fear, the eager, watching hope, 
To sullen murmuring turn'd, as lack of work 
Sent each man's musings towards his distant home, — 
Till mutter'd threats grew loud, and oaths were 

sworn 
That when the way was clear our course should be 
No forward move, but back the path we came ! 
And here our captain died, — stung to his death 
By cold accusing looks, and his own doubts ; 
For he did love all glory, but his thought 
Leap'd ever to the end, nor counted means. 
And where they slower proved than his desire. 
Lost heart, nor fought 'gainst circumstance ; and 

now 
He fretted at the strait his dreams had brought, 
And in his eyes there sadly gleam'd at times 
Prophetic pity, till a quick remorse 
Fed on the life we still were loath to lose. 
We wrapp'd him in our flag, and let him down 
In the green waters, where the shadows dark 
Of those white mountains rested on his heart 
As heavy as their presence on our own ; 
And in the drifting of those mighty isles 
One may have paused above th' unconscious dust, 
While from the diamond depths its awful voice 



MARBLE ISLE. 253 

Proclaim'd to swelling winds, wliicli dash'd the foam 
Against its gothic carvings, that below 
Was something far more fearful than itself, 
Even great, silent Death ! The little child 
I saw him kiss at parting never knew 
How grand a monument her father had ! 

Perchance that solemn something in the sea 
Appall'd those frozen hearts, and stirr'd to flight; 
For soon we toss'd upon the waves that heaved 
Responsive to their passing Polar guests. 
And scarce their snowy peaks escaped our view. 
When 'neath the deck misrule and riot reign'd, 
And cursing ruflians swore to turn the ship ; 
And all that strove the mutiny to quell 
Were bound and silenced. As easy tame 
A troop of hungry panthers round their prey ! 
We surged and roar'd a moment in mad glee, 
And then, mid frantic shouts, it struck our sense 
That still the ship moved on ; and, as we deemed, 
Command was conquer'd, all our weapons dropp'd 
As up we press'd to gain our certain end ! 
Yelling with triumph, rush'd the foremost crowd 
To seize the wheel — when, lo ! undaunted, cool, 
The stranger stood beside the helm, and eyed 
Our sheer surprise, our sudden pause, with looks 
Glittering and calm, the while one steady hand 
Outheld a pistol, and his belt was stuck 
Full of strange knives, some jewell'd to the blade. 
We stood an instant, fallen back, and stunn'd, 
Subdued by that keen glance that seem'd to chill 



254 MARBLE ISLE. 

Each man's hot blood. Then one deep howl broke 

out ; 
We made one bound to tear him limb from limb, — 
When o'er our raging tones his words rang clear: — 
" Back, back, ye hounds ! he dies the first who 

stirs ! 
I hold a dozen of such lives as yours, 
And take them with me if I go myself! 
Ye're ripe for Lucifer, ye snarling curs !" 
What was there in the single figure there, 
That seem'd to grow a giant in our sight, 
Standing erect against the cloudless sky, — 
What was there in that sneering, cutting voice. 
Or in that fiery glance from which we shrank, — 
To cow us down like dogs before this man ? 
Save that he show'd more reckless than ourselves ! 
Yet scarce we knew our master, ere he touch'd 
The idle wheel, and quick we forward leap'd. 
Then quail'd like cowards from that eye and death I 
And, as we throng'd together in one mass. 
His words fell in our midst again like shot ! 
" Look back, ye fools : behind, the icebergs lie, 
Before, the ojDen sea: there, certain wreck, 
And here, a chance for life ! Choose hell or earth I" 
Our startled thoughts took in th' unstudied truth, 
And, while w^e stood uncertain how to turn, 
Abash'd, controU'd, a tender voice stole o'er 
Our hope's despair, "Dear comrades, let us pray!" 
And there, upon the deck so nearly stain'd 
With crime and blood, our chaplain knelt alone. 



MARBLE ISLE. 255 

Some bow'd their heads ; some turn'd with mutter'd 

oaths ; 
The stranger wore a scoff upon his Up, 
And with a dagger play'd, tlie while there rose 
A mighty cry to God, that must have pierced 
Througli all the angels' songs and reach'd His 

throne ! 
I do believe that holy soul itself 
Went up to His own footstool, and beheld 
The glory of the highest heaven, so full 
Of love, of radiance, the pale face shone, 
Pleading for such as us, "his brethren," — his! 
And as with earnestness his voice grew low, 
Guilt seem'd to move us far from him and Christ, 
Till Christ's own words o'erflooded harden'd minds, 
And rough men wept in uttering soft " Aniens." 
And, as his accents died upon the air, 
Each man went slowly to his olden post. 

And now w^e lived mid dangers. Day and night 

The icebergs pass'd us, and the sea was full 

Of floating hills, and gathering, broken ice ; 

And, worst of all, at last we sprung a leak, 

And saw before us only wreck and death ; 

When, thrilling through our sullen mien, one morn 

A single word fired every hopeless breast, 

And brought upon the deck a motley group 

Of eager faces, as the voice aloft 

Sang out, once more, "Land straight ahead!" and 

then 
One heartv cheer rani' through the frozen air ! 



256 MARBLE ISLE. 

Land ! any land. ! a firm, unshaken shore 

A haven ! life ! Some trembled as they watch'd 

Brown, barren rocks loom o'er the dashing waves. 

Crested with snow, or shooting out great spurs 

'Twixt silvery glaciers, while here and thei-e 

A mighty fracture made a shadow'd bay. 

And so at last we came to land again ! 

Not a fair country ! not a tree or shrub 

To wave a welcome e'en with leafless boughs ! 

Only wide fields all white, white cliffs, white coasts, 

Cold, traceless, desolate, and still, as though 

A moment's magic changed the world to stone ! 

We call'd it " Marble Isle," because it spread 

Beneath its gray and overhanging sky 

Like to a sculptured dream. Alas ! alas ! 

The name half-sportive fancy gave it then 

Proved stern reality to after-hojies ! 

Our crippled bark could never sail again ; 

The shore was one bleak desert, and the chance 

Of rescue fainter than we dared to feel ; 

And so we took the timbers for a hut, 

With sea-weed thatch'd, and remnants of our sails ; 

A sort of wooden tent built round the mast, 

That in the centre stood, and bore on high 

Our English flag, — the warmest-tinted thing 

That ever stirr'd amid that dreary waste ! 

And here, throughout the long and weary months. 

We waiting sat around our drift-wood fire. 

Or from the highest rock, with lingering hope, 

Watch'd for a ship across the lonely sea. 



MARBLE ISLE. ZO i 

It never came , and yet, with cheerful words, 
As, daily, turning inland towards the night, 
Each stifled down the sighs he would not breathe, 
Lest he should rob his comrade of the trust 
'Twere worse than death to lose, and kept us brave, 
We lighten'd tedious evenings with old tales. 
The stories of our lives, with every thought 
And memory that could shorten lagging time. 
Only the chaplain's eyes kept pure our talk. 
Where each man made a confidant of all. 
I think while he was with us that we felt 
The sense of God's own presence ; for he lived 
So near to Him that all his words and deeds 
Like inspiration seem'd; and when he told 
The glories of the City of the King, 
And pray'd with tearful voice to meet us there, 
We listen'd with touch'd hearts, and strove to be 
To one another more like him and Christ. 
We loved him ; for he kept alive the sparks 
Of truth and tenderness, of something good 
Within the worst, and made the hardest feel 
Our grovelling natures could ascend to heaven. 
And when we saw him fading day by day. 
Worn by our hardships, though unmurmuring still, 
And never thinking of himself, we grew 
More careful o'er him, as we dimly knew 
Our link with God would break if he should die. 
His lip would quiver, and his pale cheek glow, 
As some rough act of kindness or respect 
Would prove us men that watch'd upon his face 
17 



258 MARBLE ISLE. 

The spirit's light reflected from the Throne ; 
And we were thank'd in knowing that he saw 
Our better selves expanding 'neath the touch, 
E'en mid that solitude, of grateful love. 

Only the stranger, living in our midst, 

And yet apart, scarce noticed this pure soul 

Or heard its teachings. He had shown at first 

Such skill, such varied knowledge of all arts 

Which help'd our comfort, fix'd our awed surprise. 

That he had won a sort of right to mar 

With wayward moods the peace was still in ours. 

For he would break at times his silent mien. 

That never else was shaken, with some tale 

Or legend of far lands that chain'd our sense,— 

Of ghosts and genii, robbers and their deeds, 

And all dread things, save mention of himself! 

But most he liked to paint earth's wildest scenes 

And worst experience ; for he would tell 

Of virgin forests full of savage lairs ; 

Of stiffen'd ships and sailors round the Poles ; 

Or dreary deserts that had once been seas, 

Where phantom vessels sail'd at midnight o'er, 

And ghastly shapes environ'd every step. 

While voices drew the weary traveller on 

To deeper solitudes, to die with thirst 

And mix his bones with those that strew'd the 

waste 
Of old sea-monsters and forgotten men ; 
Or left him, else, beneath some mighty rock 
That bore the likeness of a human face 



MARBLE ISLE. 259 

And jabber'd at him with sepulchral tones, 

Till fascinated terror reft his wits ; 

Or he would speak of horrid murders done 

By pirate dirks in secret sea-shore caves, 

That victim spirits might their treasures guard ; 

And count us o'er the ingots and the gems. 

Till avarice forgot the blood and guilt, 

And clutch'd an eager hand on ftincied gain ! 

With air so suited to each startling tale 

As thrill'd us into statues of mute fear ; 

And when he saw us, stalwart men, controU'd 

By spells of his weird power, a scornful laugh 

Sliock'd shuddering consciousness into our frames ; 

And as that sharp, triumphant peal aroused 

Our words still whisper'd with a sense of awe, 

Quickly he'd pass amid the shrinking throng 

To distant corner and to muttering sleep, 

Or, dashing out into the frozen night. 

Be foUow'd by long sighs of glad relief, 

Or looks of fearful hate as might be cast 

By tempted souls on Satan's demon-form 

One day, when, wearied of some hollow sport, 
We lay in groups, and through our sadness surged 
The ocean's sound, or human voice of seals. 
That ever roused new wonder or remorse, 
When, dying from our shots, their eyes look'd up 
Re})roachful as a woman's we had wrong'd ; 
And, while we mused, one bounded in our midst 
To show a prize, — the blacksmith of our crew. 
Strong-limbed, with voice harsh as his anvil-strokes, 



260 MARBLE ISLE. 

He held as tenderly in his hard hand, 

As might a child, a single little flower ; 

Telling, in soften'd, almost reverent, tones, 

How he had found it on the bleak hill-side, 

Just peeping at the sky amid the snow, 

Blue as the far spring violets we knew ; 

And how the sight had almost made him weep, 

That had not wept since his one sister died. 

And he, a boy, pluck'd daisies on her grave! 

And so he could not keep the daily watch. 

Sure that he might not see a ship for tears, 

But gather'd up this precious waif to stir 

Our heavy hearts as it had touch'd his own. 

And while he talk'd, we throng'd with eager looks 

Round that frail blossom, that recall'd to each 

His dearest thing on earth, and days gone by ! 

Its faint, sweet perfume seem'd the breath of home ! 

We saw no more the desolate, cold isle. 

But trod with buoyant steps our native fields, — 

We felt the sun shine on our own green land, — 

No more were exiles, left to die afar. 

But youth that wander'd in the shady lanes. 

Listening soft sighs, or watching changing cheeks. 

Rough as we were, upon our yearning mood 

The gentle beauty of those fragile leaves 

Came like the Switzer's song in foreign lands 

To children of the Alps, and shook our souls 

Till memory's rapture was akin to pain ! — 

At last, by general instinct, we all bore. 

With words subdued, our priceless gift to him 

Who soon would see the flowers bloom in heaven. 



MARBLE ISLE. 261 

When first we laid it in his hand, it seem'd 

He ne'er could till his spirit with its grace, 

But gazed and gazed till swell'd liis forehead's 

veins. 
As glistening drops fell slowly on its stalk ; 
And then his broken words told naught in life 
Had moved him like that plant amid the w^aste. 

We placed it near the hearth-stone where we sat, 
That all might see it ; and it seem'd to lean 
'I'owards our tones, as, lonely from its birth, 
It found a comfort there. 'Twas like a babe 
Laid in our midst, so soft it made our hearts ; 
We gently spoke, with awkward courtesy moved. 
And eyes whose looks caress'd it oft were moist. 
At length we ceased to talk ; each man's own 

thought, 
Born of sweet fragrance, had become a dream ; 
When through our silence, from the outer night 
That crept across the hills, the stranger stepp'd. 
We stirr'd to let him seek the needed warmth. 
And, as he stoop'd to see our treasure, watch'd 
With curious gaze the fitful shadows limn'd 
Upon his face before the leaping blaze. 
It moved his nature's hidden depths, and shook 
Ilis guarded mien ; 'twas as an angel's touch 
Unseal'd a frozen fount ; as he forgot 
Our presence and the present, lived again 
In other scenes akin to that pure thing! 
Then, lifting up his head, he caught each glance. 
And, as an angr\'- flush betray'd self-scorn. 



262 MARBLE ISLE. 

Spurn'd with his foot the flower into flames ! 

An instant we were all aghast ; and then, 

Cursing, we upright sprung, and, ere he turn'd, 

A dozen axes gleam'd amid the glare ! 

He saw them raised, yet shrank not, leaning calm 

With folded arms against the mast, and smiled 

In sheer disdain of death, with that same look 

Within his eyes that ruled us on the ship ; 

For once, he wore no weapons in his belt ; 

And yet we paused before this fearless man 

That stood at bay, defying us and fate ! 

We would have spared him then, in very shame 

Of numbers, and for his bravery's sake, 

Save that he roused our fury with his taunts : 

He joy'd that murder's sin should swell our woes ; 

And, as he pointed to the burning logs, 

And caird us girlish snivellers o'er a weed. 

We rush'd again to drown his sneer in blood, — 

When through the strife the chaplain urged his 

way, 
And threw himself before the haughty breast. 
That lieaved in silence as the startling words 
From quivering lips rang o'er our wrathful tones: — 
" His life through mine ! if ye must kill, sla}^ me !" 
Our blades dropp'd slowly; reverence conquer'd 

rage ; 
While o'er the stranger came a wondrous change. 
His proud form trembled ; something like a tear 
Flash'd down his cheek ; a cry, half groan, half sob, 
Unstifled rose, as, bending on one knee. 
He press'd a kiss upon the shadowy hand. 



MARBLE ISLE. 263 

Thon swifth^ fled into the cold and dark ! 

And o'er the priest's worn brow there sudden broke 

Seraphic glory, such as might have shone 

On Moses' ftice when he had talk'd with God ! 

We gather'd round him with our clamorous tongues, 

And one, the smith, sore from his blossom's loss, 

Ask'd why he robb'd our vengeance of its due. 

And what to him was such a worthless life, 

That mid our anger he should risk his own. 

The glow of rapture faded with a sigh : 

*' lie Avas my enemy !" he humbly said. 

Tlie night waned slowly. Few had cared to sleep ; 
The rest sat silent, staring at the fire. 
Outside 'twas bitter cold ; a snow had fall'n 
And spread the white earth with a thicker veil ; 
And round our hut the wind shriek'd shrill and 

fierce, 
Or moan'd and wail'd, as though it shared our fate 
And could not 'scape beyond these rock-bound 

shores ! 
And more than once the chaplain rose and look'd 
Into the darkness with sad, anxious eyes. 
Whose trouble beat against our sullen wills ; 
For hours pass'd, nor brought the absent back. 
At length his heart could bear suspense no more. 
And, standing in our midst, he made appeal, 
For mercy's sake and his, that we would seek, 
While yet was time, our comrade, who perhaps 
Was lost, or struggling in some drift for life ! 
That little flower had done its mission well, 



264 MARBLE ISLE. 

In softening men as rough and hard as we ; 

And all our tender thoughts of home conspired 

To make us listen to that pleading voice. 

We hated him that we were ask'd to save, 

But, then, we loved the other, and, besides, 

Our passion over, some had just been glad 

We had not slain the man that steer'd our ship 

Through awful dangers even to this port ! 

And his one burst of nature wiped away 

The thousand insults of his callous past. 

And so we went, — at first with lagging steps 

And minds reluctant, that were 'shamed to stay, 

Or fear'd their own reproach if one should die 

While we sat housed and warm. But soon the 

hunt 
Stirr'd eager blood, and towards its end we toil'd 
Through changing dangers as for dearest friend ! — 
We search'd and shouted ; but the hills alone 
Made answer with their echoes, till there broke 
A tinge of dawn across the eastern heights ; 
And as we threw aside our torches dim 
That cast their flickering glare upon the snow. 
The priest had seized the nearest idle spade, 
To delve amid a heap shaped like a grave ; 
We aided him in silence, help'd him draw 
A stifFen'd form from 'neath its stainless pall, 
And as we gazed upon the still, white brow, 
We all forgot the worst in him, and saw 
Only the calm and sadness that was left 
By death's last touch upon the scornful face ! 
And in his hand, tight clasp'd upon his heart, 



MARBLE ISLE. 265 

A long, soft lock of woman's golden hair ! — 

That shook us I there scarce was one but thought 

Of some fair head he ne'er would see again ; 

As, bending o'er it, frost and wind unfelt, 

Tears started unawares, and, falling, froze 

Amid our shaggy beards ; while some who held 

No pure remembrances, in wonder stared 

To see such jewel shine on such a breast ! 

And we forgave the dead because he too 

Had loved and lost ! And they were gentle hands 

That laid him in the earth, and reverent brows 

That bow'd as rose upon the rising day 

The priest's grand, earnest prayer that God would 

give 
The wanderer perfect rest ; the while we felt, 
With gathering sense of gloom, that this first link 
Thus sever'd in our brotherhood of pain 
Foretold the doom of all : we too would sleep 
In tombs of ice, while the world's life went on ! 

The blossom first, and then the silken tress 
That we had buried on that pulseless heart, 
Had stirr'd the deepest feelings of our souls, 
And made our yearnings grow till I have seen 
Our strongest steal away to weep alone. 
And, spite of all our efforts to endure 
With manly patience for each other's sake, 
There slowly fell a sort of still despair 
Upon our lives, and show'd in all our ways, 
Until we could not bear at last to look 
Into each other's eyes, lest we should read 



266 MARBLE ISLE. 

All tliat we felt was written in our own ! 

Then other troubles came ; starvation's dread 

Help'd kill our hope ; and then our pastor died. 

I mark'd him when his startled sight first saw 

That lovely hair, and o'er the pallid face 

A flood of memories swept that broke at last 

His strain'd control in one unstified sigh ; 

And while we dug the grave, he trembling stroked 

With timid fingers its soft, wavy length. 

And since that hour his life had faded fast, 

Like one that sees a spirit, and then pines 

Until he joins it at the gate of death ! — 

We tended him as mothers might a child 

Left orphan'd on their care, or as of old 

The patriarchs had served an angel guest, — 

Grave him our best, and grieved that 'twas so poor ; 

And at the last thank'd God our store held out 

Till he was gone and never knew the worst ! 

The while he pray'd with us, clasp'd each man's 

hand 
And spoke a word to him none e'er forgot ; 
And if such souls as ours shall ever walk 
Amid the shining ones where he will be, 
And doubt to know him in his glory's change. 
We shall but speak that word to see his face 
Glow tender with its human smile again ; 
And if, perchance, he take our hand once more 
Before the host of God, why, we shall stand 
Prouder in heaven than if crown'd on earth ! 
And near the end he call'd from out our midst 
A stubborn, silent nature, and laid down 



MARBLE ISLE 



267 



His head upon the breast, just touching first 
With his white lips the coarse and trembling mouth ; 
And as the broad chest swell'd beneath his brow, 
Death's shadow fell across his waiting soul, 
Darkening our day, but making his all light. 

And afterwards we died so fast — God, 

How couldst Thou dwell amid the bliss of heaven, 

Watching our wretchedness, and never send 

A single ship across those barren seas ! 

The dull suns rose and set in low, gray skies ; 

The mocking waters beat on frozen shores ; 

The white hills lean'd against the drooping ck)uds 

In their eternal stillness, — ^while we died ! 

Surely we were not worse than other men 

Who sleep among their kindred, that no place 

Save this was found for us to die upon ! 

Earth is so wide, and full of lovely spots. 

Green, clustering woods, and meadows gold with 

grain, 
And sunny dells with cots half hid in vines, 
And rippling streams with flowers on their banks : 
Yet far from these our lot on this lone isle ! 
For all our shot gave out, and e'en the seals 
Forsook at last these desolate, bleak coasts ! 
And then we died, starved of all food and hope !— 
The blacksmith first, we found him cold and stiff 
Upon the chaplain's grave, where he had gone 
To cut the name upon the stone we rear'd 
Rough-hewn into a cross,— his task just done! 
Then he who held our saint within his arms 



268 MARBLE ISLE. 

And caught his last pure breath : he scarcely spoke 
Since we had lifted that pale, precious form 
From 'neath his dropping tears, until he crept 
Close to the dead man's robes, that still were hung 
Against our smoke-stain'd wall, and, reaching up, 
Touch'd with weak hand the garment's hem, and 

pray'd, 
Gasping and faint, that he might meet again 
God's blessed angel that had been on earth ! 
And one died cursing, hurling bitter oaths 
Against the Maker who could doom His work 
To cruel torture, deaf to groans and cries ; 
Or swore there was no God but devilish Fate, 
That made a sport of human pain and woe, 
And naught beyond the welcome chill of Death ! 
And two went mad, and cast them raving down 
From jutting cliffs into the ice-strewn waves 
That toss'd their mangled bodies back to land ! 
And some sat patient, waiting for their hour, 
Haggard and quiet, brave from sheer despair. 
With tighten'd belts, and bony hands firm link'd 
In some old comrade's they had known at home ! 
And they that kept their strength a while did 

naught 
But toil at graves till ready for their own ! 
And there were wolfish looks in sunken eyes. 
That roused an unnamed fear, when we ourselves, 
Frantic with want, the savage instinct felt ; 
For hunger made us murderers in our thought, 
And each man hid a weapon, lest his life 
Should aid the rest to live : and so we walk'd 



MARBLE ISLE. 269 

Apart in gloom, and ceased to count the deaths. 
It was a dreadful thing to wake at morn 
From fitful slumber full of horrid dreams, 
To find new dead, and wonder 'twas not us, — 
To lift with feeble arms those rigid frames 
And bury them from sight in tombs of snow 
That stood like marble sepulchres in rows, — 
To live amid the dying, gaunt as they, 
And keep our senses mid such awful sights. 
And something still of faith, by saying o'er 
To our own souls some words our pastor spoke. 
Or simple teachings from our mothers' lips ! 

At last we were but two ; with wasted limbs 

We bore a third one to his place of rest. 

And, as we stood beside the new-made grave, 

We weary look'd into each other's face ; 

No need for speech, — the sad sea-sound said all ; 

AVe dropp'd our spades, clasp'd hands across the 

mound, 
And turn'd away together towards the rock 
Where we were wont to keep our fruitless watch ; 
Not that we hoped a ship would come to us 
That never cheer'd the rest ; but habit led 
Our failing footsteps to our old look-out, 
And we were not so lonely as when day. 
Dying with dull, red flush upon the waves. 
Sent us again to our forsaken hut ; 
And when the morning came, we sought once more 
Our seat upon the crag, to find escape 
From solemn company of ghosts and graves ; 



270 MARBLE ISLE. 

And as we silent sat there, waiting death, 

My comrade sudden dropp'd his fainting head 

Down on my breast. I call'd his name, I look'd 

With thrills of terror on his pallid lips, 

Had never stirr'd my blood when others died ; 

For, though I knew our hours were number'd, still 

Such keen fear seized me to be left alone, 

That great drops bathed my brow, the while I 

pray'd 
Aloud in my strong anguish, — and he woke ; 
And, gazing from my bosom o'er the deep. 
Said, in a voice that had a dying tone, 
" One keeps a tryst with me whom I thought false; 
I saw her even now, on rock like this, 
She and an old gray sailor who had wound 
His arm about her as yours thus holds me ; 
She saw me here, and stretch'd her dear hands out. 
Think of it, friend, that all this watery waste 
Kept not our souls apart ! We will meet now. 
Sweet heart, she waited long ! — to-night my eyes 
Will look in hers as in the olden time ! — 
Thanks — you were always kind, — shake hands once 

more: 
God bless you. Jack — how dark it is ! — good-bye V 

I would not think him dead ; I held him close. 

Rubbing his hands, and saying to myself, 

" 'Tis but another swoon ; he soon will wake !" 

But I, alas ! had seen too many die 

To keep delusion long. And so at last 

1 lean'd him gently up against the rock. 



MARBLE ISLE. 271 

Still looking towards our England and his love ! 

I could not bury him : I had no strength. 

I could not weep : I e'en was starved of tears. 

I could not stay there, and go slowly mad. 

So I have come with faltering steps once more 

To this sad shed, to sit beside the mast, 

And underneath our tatter'd, faded flag ! 

Its colors were so bright when first unfurl'd ! 

Ah ! who would then have deem'd 'twould wave 

alone, 
That fair, frail thing, o'er all our perish'd hopes ! 
'Tis like a friend, and I can pity feel 
That it must still float on when I am gone ! — 
My God, how lonely 'tis here ! I have heard 
That men have lived thus upon desert isles ; 
But then they dwelt not in the midst of graves ! — 
I think I know now how the last man felt 
In the great Flood, watching the waters rise ! 
Did Grod seem near him as He does to me ! — 
Outside, the grand hills lift their heads to heaven ; 
And years will roll, still the same skies will touch 
Those snow-crown'd crests, when we will be but 

dust! 
Ah no ! Ye hills, I shall outlive ye all ! — 
How white my native cliffs shone in the sun 
That day we sail'd ! what green fields lay behind ! — 
I wonder if they think of me sometimes 
In that dear English farm-house far away ! 
I wonder if my mother's sitting yet 
Beside the hearth, and dropping, as she knits, 
A tear of memory on the home-si^un yarn ! 



2i72 MARBLE ISLE. 

And if slie keeps the shells upon her shelf 
I brought on my first voyage ! How proud she was 
E'en of my sailor walk ! Thank God, a tear ! 
And, oh ! what pain ! my dizzy brain reels round ! — 
I see strange visions : do the dead come back ! — 
Nay, 'tis but weakness ! I cannot die here ! — 
I must go back to our look-out, and sit 
Beside my comrade, with my face towards home ! — 
Perhaps the tardy ship may come too late. 
And those aboard may take our exiled bones. 
For sweet compassion's sake, to our own shores ! — 
Ah ! hunger's pangs are sharp ! I faint again ! — 
One more last look, and then I must be gone, 
Or I shall fail to drag me up the steep. 
There are the ashes of our last, bright fire, 
There the rough seats we sat on ; 'gainst the wall 
Still hangs the chaplain's robe ; and here and there 
A worn, stain'd jacket, as if just thrown off. 
Farewell, poor objects that have e'en grown dear ! 
Farewell, old stunted pen that wrote this log, — 
The saddest, sure, was ever kept by man ! 
Farewell, my country's flag ! Life, life, farewell ! 



8 D -S 












.>;, %^^,^ .;r^;, -.^^^^^ ,:^:^.. 



1-4 






i°--^ 



^ 

*<^ 



■ ■ 8 ( t 






v->>. 



•'.4K^'^. \<^ 



^^, "."C^^/-' ..^ -^, 



^o 







'b^, 



VA 



^OEc ^9r: J' -V =.y^v^^ ^ ^ 



ST. AUGUSTINE ' ^^ ^^ -o",";'' ^A- ^ 



FLA. Q^ 
32084 "^ 






